









^ V 

* <C* > v Ca* 

^ .<? % I 

.-K v o°" u * 'c 



■* '" 

% ° ^ - 
“ *b ^ : 



\0 * 

£ w 

r * rv * 

* ,-\ -> eU *> 


*■ A o" ^ A * 



«> -'..o- V O A° .. 

> v * * * ®- c\ * * VL% *> 


#* _ ^ <* 


* ^ A *«* >-*- ^ ^ v^w/^. 


. ^ V ' 

'V* *■• ■ • ‘ * * A 0 ? ' ^5 * 



p '^p A* 


V9 


o 

« A V«* l e 
* V ° 



<t* *♦ • 

Vv 


*- #*% : 

3 \ v <^> '->-* ^ ^ 
i ^ l / « <J^ a V 0 N o 

«-& t /* U o * O 



s^* ■•‘•o' .•‘vana: '•o k . 

-*mh; #++. •.. 

»• ^ CV ^W^,* -0 * 

5 <V 

V •-*<?■• '«>* j.0 1 , 

.* .W*’. V ^ .‘^SK*'. •*. 


& * 



O 

O ,\V«* o 

■* <e> o 


* <£ % 

^ t;t ,, >*'?.?.* 0* *o •, 

’ <» ”c~) *& «. » « <P p\ V o » G 

% °o ^ *W^- tr ' — 


*b A 




4 o 

° ^ >p 

... % * ° ; ’° ’’ °V 

5 ^ V T • O - 



% -"’‘ a 0 
• > v*f> 

° •^'n c,^ * 

° ^ 9 s » 

• #*+ V 

* <v ^ ° 

rr® 4 ' a <. 

A . *■ ' • -t ^ 

. ^ A* / 

; ^o k : 


jy° ^ 

^ . tf* 


O. 41 » I 1 • 


• ^ % : . 

<. '«•'»'" A ^ 

<5* ft > q N q *?* 

C v c „ „ ^ O 

O 

v -~ 



❖° 

• %> J* *' 

° cv » 

° ^ V 


1 -0 ^ * 



$ * • * ^ 


0 « 0 ' .<$> 


‘ ,^ vy v • 

s _<v ^ ° 



^ & 


^7 


^;.° ^ °^ o '. 



A {* 

* <t? V Q> * 

A r '®* ** * .0^ ^ 

•M * ag’/T/7?-> ^ V-r • c s^^v v . *■“ 

* ^ K ^ s esS\\\i^# 

o > . < ^ cr 

° ^ °* * «/,’ 



\0 

r ^ * 

' * c\ -*£- ^ MWWf 1 » lv> * 

% v ^ ^’o* f / V^r^- y % % 

v v .. ^ :*_°- c\ ,o O \> , t . C/r ^ 



» 1 1 


^ /. 


v : 





.\V^ 




° '^ n <A * 

m *» 







; si*'? 

o A.V** o 

♦♦***<►• 


A ' *••»* aCT VT*,* A 

^ .«•'«- <£* 0^“ c o " O ^ < ^- ) <&A . t » « '<$> 

*i ' ^ ° ^ V 

< ^ ^ vv> t ^k IWWMI^l *' ^rf////>^ -** 

# 0*s /Tv ^ 1 Jt* r\> 






° ^ 

<?>* %. ** /<■’•’ '° 

> v v f> ’ • °- o. 

o % 



<e A 


p-*+ "*0ilC^° «5 °* 

,♦ a % '>wv / 

a0^ **AL% 

V V 



T * o 


*$» A v ‘ 
y*V 


VP. A 


°_ 'W 


<1 ^ 

A s * 


• v-v • 


’ ^ A 

r V^ v 


o ^<v 




S ^ A, 
• # 5 \ y 


/ o 0 " 0 * ' O 


V . v > B ^<£ 

^ *W2^ tr 


O • A 


CT G°"°* 'O 


* ■»*- »*' ’+. A 


V A 


^0 

*XISS8? ' ^ ^ ’* WJH, ♦ A 

1. ' * ' ’ ' ^ • • 0 ’ ^ °%. **>’** ^° 

c\ ,0' AVI'* > V s c\ .0 V » 

T, /Cy <> 4. * a&*^ • *P • a o' v 

V ^ %<f : m ^ jLl ,^- * 

• y> 'V 


v, ^ “ 


X- * 


'vpS 


\p$ 


A 

V . t * - ^ 


O * A 


4 ^ '^A * ■m)l 1 ^ * 

- <o* V vt*T» a 

vV A N n "P. A v 


o o 

* V <?* ”, 


0 * c °."%. 'O 


<A ^ 4 *^ 


A . I • B 

<r ** 


o V 


‘ /* 0 X 


c> 

• .or o * 




. \ v . . ^ 




’ £ 

* r\ * 

V (^* 4 




v A * °- 


* A v / J 


o /' 

: \s s 


^ v ,*.W'* *> 


* 4 o 

>° kV ^ 

0* JP 


0*0 O, 


\ 


V n * • ®- 


• u *+ ^ 
: : 


<■ *5 

v ^ 

A ^o, *.TT.*‘ A 

, V o 0 " O „ ^*Q jV , ' » >, ^ 

* O * V zj e/t?7^. ’ -V 

; - oV -^ *'■ ^ ' 


^ ^rv 

* '^o. • 

•i <L V V ^* 


o v 0 °:°^ o 


* \>^ 


O v<, 


«0 

^ ° 

o "V " 

3 *®,-!* A 0wW V 

*o. , 0 ' %>.vi'* *> \> . 

*" ^ A 11 

• r " - 


^ v 
^f\ * 

^ v 


o A , 


l O^ ^ t * l ' e ^ *% r ° V 

•c<A\)\ O ^ V C/ 

’ -W -^K* -o/ 


*^0* 


0 -o5 ^ 

' y 


* 


H O. 




on 0 


®* “O ♦ 


* 


o 




V V «> » * °-r *^C\ 

y'-^ 



A v * © « 0 

A° *2^* * 


O ♦ 


\ . ^ 


A 

C. rv 













































































































“Let me introduce you to my friends .” — Page 14 



THE QUEEN OF JOY 


/ 


BY 


MRS. L. T. MEADE 



AUTHOR OF “OCEANA’S GIRLHOOD,” “AlVILD IRISH GIRL,” “THE GIRLS 
OF MERTON COLLEGE,” ‘‘FOR DEAR DAD,” “KITTY O’DONOVAN,” 
“PEGGY FROM KERRY,” “THE CHESTERTON GIRL GRAD- 
UATES,” “THE GIRLS of king’s ROYAL,” “THE 
LADY OF JERRY BOY’S DREAMS,” “A 
PLUCKY GIRL,” “A GIRL OF 
HIGH ADVENTURE,” 



WITH FOUR HALF-TONE DRAWINGS 
BY CHARLES L. WRENN 


NEW YORK 


HURST & COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1914, 

BY 

HURST & COMPANY 


AUG 27 1914 


©CI.A380109 

Kf>/ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘Let me introduce you to my friends” Frontispiece // 

Page 

Nothing in all the world could be more dignified and 


stately than her action 47v 

“Enthrone our Queen, enthrone her!” 210 

As she spoke she lifted the dress from its box 283 




f 








V 


> 
























> • I 


* > t> 1 







r\, 1 I 


























■ 




















Thus we go on — thus we proceed — 
Step follows step — deed follows deed. 













CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE'- 

I. English, French, German and Italian 1 

II. The Reception Feast 15 

III. Joyce 29 

IV. A Surprise 40 

V. Suspense 63 

YI. The Failure of Franqoise 75 

VII. The Summerhouse 90 

VIII. The Viper Versus Cobra 108 

IX. Hope Ashley 125 

X. The Green Walnut Bag 139 

XI. From Paris, Not from Lyon 154 

XII. The New Maman 168 

XIII. The Mystery of the Five Francs 178 

XIV. Coning's Tower 191 

XV. Enthroned 203 

XVI. Queen Absolute 212 

XVII. La Cobra’s Letter 229 

XVIII. The Girl Who Would Be Queen 242 

XIX. The Hostesses 253. 

XX. Pauvre la Vipere 268 

XXI. The Pale-Blue Dress 278 

XXII. Respite 297 

XXIII. Foiled .310 

XXIV. The Great FIite 325 

XXV. A Tune of Joy 341 

XXVI. The Last — the Best 356 


v 






THE QUEEN OF JOY 


CHAPTER I. 

ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

The great French School of La Chapelle stood 
in the centre of a flat plain. The plain was large, 
and in itself somewhat ugly. 

In the days of long ago the school of La Chapelle 
had been a convent. 

But long ere this story opens the nuns had taken 
their departure. Some of these gracious and much 
loved sisters had died — some had gone to England 
— but the bones of the Mother Superior lay buried 
under the flags close to the altar of the ancient 
chapel. In this chapel once the nuns had prayed 
and sung — here also sweet incense had ascended into 
the air — and here such beauty as their money and 
their religious training permitted filled the place. 

But now all these things had passed out of sight 
— out even of memory. The chapel was deserted, 
and the great house had been turned into a school 
for the daughters of all those who could afford to 
come there. The place was now alive with eager 
young voices, quick steps, gay laughter. 

1 


2 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

The school, which used to be known long, very 
long, ago as The Home of the Sacred Heart, was 
now called La Chapelle, and was situated in that 
exceedingly flat part of France which lies between 
Calais and Paris. Here might be seen long rows 
of tall, very erect poplar trees — here might be heard 
the sound of a swift deep flowing river — the river 
of La Chapelle, after which the school took its name. 
The grounds surrounding the old house were most 
beautifully kept. The rose garden belonging to the 
nuns was still, it is true, undisturbed, but the rest 
of the wide and spacious grounds were laid out in 
lawns, in tennis-courts, in hockey grounds, and also 
in a space for that exceedingly popular game of 
La Crosse. 

The school when this story opens held about ninety 
girls, thirty of whom were English, five or six 
Italians, ten German, and the remainder French. 

The name of the Principal was Madame la Com- 
tesse de Tres. Her staff of resident teachers were 
Mile. Armor, Mile. Constant, Fraulein Schwann, 
Miss Tabor and Miss Davenport; also a very bright 
gay and charming little personage called in the 
school Mile. Susanne. In addition, masters and 
mistresses came once a week from Paris. These 
professors imparted music in its varied branches, 
also dancing, also languages. Paris was two hours 
distant by train, but Madame spared no pains or 
expense over her school. She had turned what was 
practically a ruin into a great and thriving school^ 


ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 3 

and her sincere love for her profession knew no 
bounds. 

One or two of the French girls came from the ad- 
joining small town of Tourelles, but all, whether 
they lived close by or not, slept at the school, for 
Madame would not permit any day girls into her 
school. Amongst the French and Italian girls may 
specially be mentioned the following: The young 
and very beautiful Comtesse Caterina de Mori, Mile. 
Genette Monita, Mile. Juliette de Tournay, Mile. 
Marguerita de Marni. There were also Jeanne 
Gerusez and Edmee Leroux, also Signorina Imelda 
Olivetta and Signorina Gemma Ravella, also Frau- 
lein Compt, etc. Amongst the English girls might 
be noticed first and foremost Muriel St. John. Mu- 
riel was tall, fair and graceful, making in her 
gracious young presence a striking contrast to her 
darker companions of La Belle France. There was 
also Hope Ashley, a very lovely girl with a wonder- 
ful expression of goodness and nobility of soul writ- 
ten all over her face with its large greeny-brown 
eyes and somewhat irregular features. Her smile 
was swift and sudden — not coming very often, but 
filling the heart of the one on whom it was bestowed 
with delight. 

On a certain evening close on mid-term in the 
month of October, a bevy of young English girls 
might have been seen waiting eagerly in a large, 
bare Salle de Recreation, as it was called. This 
room was set apart for the use of all the girls in 


4 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

the school, but by a sort of right of possession it 
was invariably used only by the English girls. Here 
the German girls came evening after evening, but 
the French and .Italian girls preferred other rooms 
in the old house. 

On the present occasion the said English girls 
were clustered together ; they were most eagerly 
waiting for a fresh member of their school fellows, 
and many were the conjectures with regard to her. 

The English girls slept in a very long dormitory 
which had once been filled with a long row of cells 
of the nuns, who had here reposed and from here 
had risen at midnight and early in the morning for 
their devotions in the old chapel. 

The cells were now turned into bright, cosy little 
bed-rooms, being papered with gaily flowered papers, 
and furnished with all that intense coldness, still- 
ness and purity which characterises the best class 
of French school. 

The old doors had been removed from the ancient 
cells, and warm curtains took their places. The 
floors were parquetry highly polished. The small 
narrow beds were white as snow, and the pretty 
casement windows, cold enough in winter, stood wide 
open, winter and summer, during the greater part 
of the day. 

Just outside the little bed-rooms ran a long corri- 
dor which was lit by several long, narrow windows. 
The corridor was unadorned except for its parquetry 
floor. 


ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 5 

At one end was a high oak door which communi- 
cated with the house. At the further end was an- 
other enormous door, which opened on to winding 
and broken stairs and led eventually to the old gran- 
ary, and then again by means of a narrow passage 
to the ancient and long unused chapel. Neither of 
these high doors had locks or bars of any sort, and 
it was whispered amongst the more timid of the 
English girls that the great door leading to the gran- 
ary was best kept shut. 

Why? the girls did not dare to ask, even of one 
another. 

There were in all thirty little bed-rooms arranged 
side by side for the English girls, and in addition 
there were two more minute bed-rooms, one at each 
end, one of which was occupied by the English 
teacher — Miss Tabor — the other by that excellent 
and talented woman — Fraulein Schwann. 

The French, German and Italian girls slept in 
two enormous dormitories on a lower floor. 

These dormitories had been specially fitted up 
for them, and all traces of the religious past of 
the house had been swept away. The lower dor- 
mitories were neatly and severely furnished, and 
each girl had her own curtain, which effectually 
shut her away at night from her companions. But 
in each of these dormitories there was not only the 
door of entrance, but three other enormous doors 
which were unlocked, and which led, some of them 
down to the old chapel, some of them to the special 


6 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

room used in her lifetime by the Mother Superior, 
and others again to different rooms, where different 
vocations of what in the ancient times was called the 
religious life went on. French girls are not easily 
alarmed, but even the beautiful Comtesse, Caterina 
de Mori, as well as more than one of her young com- 
panions, felt a sense of fear in connection with these 
huge unlocked doors. On this special night there 
was no French girl in the Salle de Recreation. 
Mademoiselle Armor, it is true, had tapped for a 
moment at the door. Hope Ashley went immedi- 
ately and opened it. Mademoiselle Armor whis- 
pered something in a low tone, and Hope returned 
to her companions, Muriel St. John and Constance 
Wheeler. 

u Madame la Comtesse has gone to the train to 
meet Joyce Selby,” she remarked. “ I do wonder 
what my Joyce of the olden time is like now, and 
if she will remember me ? ” 

Hope’s sweet face flushed with excitement. 

Muriel gave her a slightly discontented glance. 

“ You are so absurdly proud of your relationship,” 
she remarked, the faintest touch of a sneer altering 
the expression of her beautiful lips for a moment. 
“I have no doubt she has absolutely forgotten you.” 

“ She is not made that way,” said Hope, “ and I 
wish now and then you would get enthusiastic, Mu- 
riel. It will be such a real pleasure to have her 
here; and if she is like what she used to be like, it 
will be quite delightful. In any case she will be 


ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 7 

new — a new face to most of us — and from the be- 
loved England.” 

“ I do wonder how the poor thing will like it,” 
said Constance. 

“ Not at all,” remarked Muriel, “ at least not for 
a very long time.” 

“Never, I should say,” echoed Constance. “Fancy 
how severe are the rules of La Chapelle, I for one 
have not been home for over a year, and on this 
very morning I received a letter from my parents 
desiring me to remain at school until the beginning 
of the long vacation. I call the whole thing sick- 
ening and unfair — oh! hut most unfair. The French 
girls who live at Tourelle can go home from Satur- 
day to Monday any week end they like, but we — 
we must stay on. For my part I hate the school.” 

“ Whether you hate it or love it you have got to 
stay here,” remarked Muriel. “ For my part I am 
contented at last for I have made friends.” 

“ And how have you made friends ? ” answered 
Constance — she spoke with anger and her eyes 
.sought those of Hope Ashley. 

“ I would not have your sort of friends,” she con- 
tinued. “ I would not take Caterina from Hope; I 
would not take Juliette from Hope. There are girls 
in the school who remark these things, Muriel, and 
who think but little of you for what you have done.” 

“ It does not matter — indeed it does not matter,” 
.said Hope in her lovely voice. “ Caterina and Ju- 


8 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

liette and — and others will com© back to me some 
day. I am not at all angry — I am ready to wait.” 

“ So you say,” remarked Muriel. She looked 
full at Hope as she spoke. 

Hope returned her gaze. Hope had large greeny- 
brown eyes; a little, short, somewhat piquant face; 
and an abundance of hair — a perfect wealth of it, 
which might best be described as bronze in colour. 
There was not a touch of red in it, but there was 
a vast lot of gold, dark gold, which gave it that pe- 
culiar bronzey tint. It rippled naturally over her 
low brow, and hung in a long, thick, very thick 
plait, far below her waist. She was a slight girl, 
with very dainty hands and feet, but was altogether 
somewhat on the petite scale. Suddenly Muriel 
raised her finger and said: 

“ Hark, do hark ! ” All the girls strained their 
ears to listen. The great white stove threw a pleas- 
ing warmth over the room. The sunset had passed. 
Muriel moved forward a step, and turned on some 
electric lights which were situated here and there 
at considerable distances down the length of the long^ 
bare room. 

“ I do wish,” said Hope, “ that I had asked 
Mademoiselle Armor to bring Joyce here on her ar- 
rival. We have not a chance of seeing her now until 
diner , and then they’ll all — all — be gazing at her. 
Oh, Muriel, think of sixty pairs of French, Italian, 
and German eyes looking you through and through* 


ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. & 

and think, in addition, of twenty-seven pairs of Eng- 
lish eyes.” 

“ I do pity her — that I do,” said Constance. 

“ English girls who know their manners don’t 
stare,” remarked Muriel. “ Of course she’ll have 
to fight her own battle, but I mean to help her all 
I can.” 

Hope lowered her steady eyes, and the faintest 
little sigh came from her lips. Muriel went sud- 
denly up to her and laid her hand on her shoulder.. 

“ What is it, Hopey ? ” 

“ She’s my — my cousin, you know,” said Hope. 

“ Well, I never said she wasn’t; but that need 
not prevent her being my friend.” 

Hope suppressed a second sigh, and going up to 
the white china stove began to warm her small hands. 
The girls could distinctly hear the bustle of arrival 
downstairs. This bustle had been preceded by the 
clumsy sound of a carriage driving up to the front 
door. Then heavy steps mounted the stairs, and 
there was the noise, the distinct noise, of an ar- 
rival in the great corridor which opened on to the 
cells. 

“ I’m just mad to go to her,” said Hope. “ Do 
you think I might, Muriel ? ” 

“ Of course you mustn’t,” said Muriel. “ We 
must restrain our impatience until le diner . Miss 
Tabor will look after her. She’s very kind to ‘ for- 
eigners,’ as she calls them. Fancy an Englishwoman 
calling us foreigners ! ” 


10 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

“ But we are foreigners in this country,” said 
Hope. “ She speaks correctly.” 

Just then there came a bustling noise in the 
passage outside, and quite half-a-dozen English girls, 
followed by one or two French, rushed into the Salle 
de Recreation. They were all chatting eagerly, like 
so many inquisitive birds, and all — for that evening 
at least — in the English tongue. Madame la Com- 
tesse had given this permission in honour of the 
arrival of the new English pupil. 

“ I have seen her. Girls, I have seen her ! ” said 
Josephine Dalzell. “ I just caught a glimpse of her. 
She’s tall and as straight as a maypole, and oh, dark, 
very, very dark. I don’t believe for a moment she 
is English.” 

“ Why should she not be of Angleterre ? ” said 
Genette Menica, speaking in the pretty lisping way 
which made her attempt at the English language 
so charming. Genette herself was a very bright lit- 
tle brunette, highly finished and polished to her very 
finger-tips. She wore her hair in the French style 
of the young demoiselle — in two long, thick plaits 
which fell over her shoulders. Her skirt was a short, 
voluminous plaid; and her little blouse was crim- 
son, very low in the neck and short in the sleeves. 
She looked in every particular like a true daughter 
of La Belle France. Genette was a great favourite 
in the School ; and indeed it was difficult to find fault 
with her, for she was charming, gay and obliging. 

“ It is whispered,” she said, “ that the new 


ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 11 

demoiselle from Angleterre is — oh — of the very — 
very richest; that she possesses a castle all her own, 
and will — will come out when her education is fin- 
ished, and her knowledge of our beautiful tongue 
of France rendered perfect. I long to know more 
of her — I will know more of her.” 

“ You know nothing as yet, Genette, you silly 
girl,” exclaimed Muriel. “ And try not to believe 
half you hear. She is a cousin of Hope’s, and Hope 
would know, if anyone did, if Miss Joyce Selby is 
a great heiress and has a castle of her own.” 

“ Then you will tell — you will inform — you will 
enlighten! ” exclaimed the French girl, rushing over 
to Hope, performing a low graceful curtsey, then 
dropping on one knee and holding up her hands in 
a pretty, theatrical manner. 

“ I have nothing to tell,” was Hope’s reply. “ I 
have known Joyce since we were both little chil- 
dren. I am glad she is coming here. She is nice, I 
can tell you that.” 

“ Ah — ah ! but what care we about the niceness ? ” 
cried Genette. “ Hiceness is all very well. You — 
you are nice, Hope Ashley, and so is the statuesque 
Muriel, and so is Connie of the forte couture. For- 
give me, Connie, I do not laugh indeed; I adore 
your — what you call — your stoutness — I like not 
skinny people — oh, by no manner of means. But 
tell me, Hope, beautiful angel, has she got the 
argent , and the — the castle — all her own? If so, 


12 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

she will he great, very great, some day; and we, her 
school-fellows, will adore her, as I adore her now.” 

Hope smiled very gently, if very gravely. 

“ Get up, Genette, and don’t he silly,” she said. 
“ Joyce can tell you herself what she likes ; it is 
not my affair.” 

Genette’s little dark face suddenly glowered. Pas- 
sion filled her black eyes, her lips trembled slightly. 

She rose from her kneeling position and, stand- 
ing in the midst of the group of expectant girls, 
said quietly, and in a voice of infinite disdain: 

“ For me — I care not for the English Mees — I 
care not at all for the Mees from Angleterre — that 
country of snow and ice — of cold, cold hearts — 
of reserve, oh, magnifique , but intolerable! I want 
to say something to you — -yes, to you all — on this 
night when we must talk the hateful tongue of Angle- 
terre.” 

The girls crowded round her; there was some- 
thing breathless and extraordinary in her manner. 

“ It is this,” she continued, “ and you must — 
oh, you must keep it as a secret of the most pro- 
found. The rats! You know how we suffer from 
the rats, but are they rats? I ask that the problem 
should be solved.” 

Hope felt her face turning a shade paler, but 
before anyone could answer or make the faintest 
comment, the great door at the further end of the 
Salle de Recreation was flung wide, and Madame 
La Comtesse herself, Madame la Comtesse de Tres, 


ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 13 

entered, leading by the hand a tall and extraordi- 
narily beautiful girl. 

“ I break the rules on this rare occasion, my be- 
loved pupils,” she said, “ in order to present to you 
personally a new inmate of our famous School. This 
young lady — Miss Joyce Selby — will be pleased, I 
am sure, to make your acquaintance. You on your 
part, my children, will do your utmost to make 
the stranger from a foreign land at home and happy 
in this new land of her adoption. Adieu, my chil- 
dren. But one word first. There will be special 
diner for all the English girls in my private salle a 
manger this evening. There we shall meet again. 
Adieu, my children ! ” 

“ But — but ” gasped Genette, “ is it not pos- 

sible, Madame la Comtesse, to make an exception 
in favour of one little French girl — one French 
demoiselle with a hungry heart ? ” 

“ No, no, no, Genette; you sup as usual with the 
demoiselles of your own fair country.” 

The comtesse sailed out of the room. The great 
doors closed behind her, and the next moment Joyce, 
who was a little dazzled by so many strange faces, 
suddenly fixed her eyes upon that of Hope Ashley. 
A glad, surprised cry broke from her lips. She 
rushed up to Hope and kissec. her with a quick pas- 
sion. Had she been a French girl she would have 
lingered over the caress; but being essentially Eng- 
lish, she brought it to a conclusion with as great a 


14 ENGLISH, FRENCH, GERMAN AND ITALIAN. 

rapidity as she had bestowed it. Hope instantly took 
her friend and cousin’s hand. 

“ I would not tell you I was here, Joyce; I wanted 
it to he a surprise. Let me introduce you to my 
friends.” She took Joyce’s hand and led her up 
at once to Muriel. 

“ Miss Muriel St. J ohn,” she said — “ Miss Con- 
stance Wheeler. The Comtesse Caterina de Mori — 
Mademoiselle Genette Monita.” 

Joyce had abundant dignity. She coolly and 
carefully took the measure of each girl as she was 
introduced to her. Her own appearance was some- 
thing like that of a young queen receiving the ad- 
dresses of her court. There was no doubt whatso- 
ever, and the persons who most realised this fact 
were Muriel St. John and Juliette de Tournay, that 
Joyce Selby would he a power in the School. Her 
noble young presence was the very essence of true 
English dignity, and yet where and in what direc- 
tion had she acquired those wonderful flashing 
dark eyes — so deeply, darkly, dangerously blue — or 
what colour were they — surrounded by lashes 
black as ink, and curling upwards like an Irish 
girl’s ? Where had she got her great wealth of raven 
black hair ? Her small but imperious features ? — 
her mouth with its cupid’s how — her pearly white 
teeth — and, above all, the faint English wild roses 
on her cheeks? Each girl who glanced at her ac- 
knowledged beyond doubt her beauty. They had yet 
to feel her charm. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 

Besides the girls mentioned in the last chapter, 
namely, the Comtesse Caterina de Mori, the two 
Italian girls, Signorina Imelda Olivetta and Sig- 
norina Gemma Ravella, were of course several 
others. 

Amongst these may he specially mentioned a very 
clever, very sunny-faced girl who went by the name 
of Alain de St. Aignan. There was also rather sad- 
faced little Jeanne Gerusez; and bright, pretty Ed- 
mee Leroux; Mile. Marguerite de Marni — a good 
girl with no particular force of character — and Mile. 
Juliette de Tournay — gay, laughing, passionate, and 
Erench to her backbone. 

In addition to the girls and their teachers there 
was a certain woman who has a great deal to do with 
this story. This woman lived in the adjacent small 
town of Tourelle and called herself Citoyenne 
Pelven. 

Citoyenne Pelven was a republican through and 
through, but she was far too wise to talk of her 
principles. She did a very fine trade at the school 
of La Chapelle, bringing almost every day a large 
15 


16 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


flat basket to a certain portion of the grounds. This 
basket she hung after a peculiar fashion round her 
neck, allowing it to rest comfortably against her 
ample bust. The basket was covered with a snowy 
white cloth; and when the cloth was removed and 
French and English, German and Italian girls 
crowded round to admire and exclaim, Citoyenne 
Pelven had a really good time. For there were no 
cakes like hers in the whole of Tourelle. There 
was no pastry to equal her tartlets; there was no 
confectionery to come up to her chocolates, bonbons, 
and sweetmeats of every sort and description. 

Invariably day by day Citoyenne Pelven reaped 
a rich harvest out of the ninety young girls who 
lived in the school. The best part of the fun was 
that the purchases had to be made invariably in 
secret. Did Madame la Comtesse find out; did 
Mile. Armor, Mile. Constant, Fraulein Schwann, 
Miss Tabor, Miss Davenport know — the fat would 
be, according to a vulgar expression, in the fire. 
The only person in the school whom the girls were 
not afraid of discovering their secret hoard — their 
secret indulgence — was bright-eyed, merry Mile. Su- 
zanne. The fact was Mile. Suzanne had found out 
long ere this all about Citoyenne Pelven. She even 
knew the exact hour when the portly figure of the 
good dame would appear at the back of the big sum- 
mer-house. Yes, Mile. Suzanne knew; the girls 
guessed that Mile. Suzanne knew. In consequence 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


IT 


they adored her, and Mile. Suzanne was wise enough 
to keep her peace. 

“ What matters it ? ” she would whisper to her- 
self. “ The poor, poor cheries must have their fun. 
It is surely not wrong to eat of the luscious cakes 
and the melting tartlets, and the stupendously de- 
licious chocolates and bonbons. The young girl will 
be the young girl all the world over; and then be- 
sides it helps Citoyenne Pelven — it makes to a great 
extent the living of that poor woman. I — I say 
not a word. I walk through this little simple mys- 
tery with my finger metaphorically to my lips.” 

On the morning after the arrival of Joyce Selby, 
Citoyenne Pelven took extra pains with her basket 
of good and delicious things. She guessed that ac- 
cording to invariable custom there would be a feast 
— a large and sumptuous feast in the great attic 
which ran across the entire top of the old house. To 
make a fete on the arrival of a new girl was the 
custom at La Chapelle. It appealed mightily to 
Citoyenne Pelven, and she filled her basket accord- 
ingly. By-and-by she was joined by Genette Moneta, 
Muriel St. John, the young Comtesse Caterina 
Mori, and three or four others. They all brought 
money and were all in a state of suppressed excite- 
ment. 

“ It is to be a very great feast to-day, Citoyenne,” 
said the Comtesse Caterina, speaking in her rapid 
fluent French. “ We want much, very much. Hark, 
listen, Citoyenne. We want all the contents of that 


18 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


big flat basket of jours, and even that is not suf- 
ficient. You must send us round, or bring your- 
self, further supplies. Let me consider. Two dozen 
of these cherry cakes, four more boxes of the good, 
good bonbons, one more box of chocolates, with the 
cream inside; and then, in addition, quite a dozen 
more tartlets filled with the very best strawberry 
jam. Do you comprehend, Citoyenne Pelven?” 

The eyes of the Frenchwoman glittered with joy.. 

“ I absolutely comprehend,” she said, “ and will 
faithfully obey. I return to my good Patisserie now 
to prepare the fresh dainties. Ah, ma Foi, but 
they will be of the most superb. I will myself bring 
them this evening — when the night is falling over 
the land. I will bring them to this spot — behold 
this great laurel tree! — and hearken, mes cheres 
Demoiselles — the basket shall rest under the laurel, 
but pour Moi — Citoyenne Pelven — I will disappear. 
It might mean possible danger for me to be present 
— there are eyes that see, and ears that hearken — 
for me — I will make myself scarce. You can pay 
the poor Citoyenne to-morrow morning for the fresh 
dainties, for that money is as the bread of life to her, 
my children. Pay me now for the contents of this- 
lovely basket; and for the fresh things, to-morrow 
will do. 

“ Ah, but surely you are going to have a fete of 
the very greatest.” 

“ Hearken, Citoyenne,” called out Genette. “ We 
must have, in addition to the fresh good things above 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


19 


named, half a dozen bottles of thy best sirop. Send 
different sorts, kind Citoyenne.” 

Citoyenne Pelven smiled broadly — indulged in a 
most expressive wink, and then emptied the con- 
tents of her basket into the hands of Edmee Le- 
roux and of Juliette de Tournay. She then turned 
and swiftly disappeared. The girls were prepared 
for the contents of the basket; and these delicacies 
were now placed in a deep brown hamper and hid- 
den under the thick, low growing laurel tree. This 
being done, the Italian girl, Imelda Olivetta, 
rushed after the Citoyenne and placed a certain 
sum of money in her fat hand. Citoyenne invari- 
ably waited for this money on the edge of the plan- 
tation which divided the School of La Chapelle from 
the high road. Then Imelda returned to her com- 
panions. She was panting slightly; she said in her 
pretty hurried French: 

“We shall have of all things sufficient. The fete 
will be a great one, for the occasion is worthy.” 

“ At what hour is the fete to be held ? ” suddenly 
asked the Comtesse Caterina de Mori. 

“ Why, of course,” replied Muriel St. John, “ it 
can only be at the usual hour, namely, twelve of 
the clock to-night. The teachers are all soundly 
asleep at twelve. I have given secret invitations 
to the thirty girls who belong. We must glide care- 
fully up the broken stairs, and on the stroke of 
twelve enter the great attic, and voila! the fun will 
begin.” 


20 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


" Suppose we are discovered ? ” exclaimed Ed- 
mee Leroux. 

u Ah, non non ! ” cried the Comtesse Caterina de 
Mori, “ ce nest pas possible ! Mesdemoiselles, I 
want to whisper a secret to you. It is a vital mo- 
ment for us and our scheme. Madame la Comtesse 
de Tres is afraid — very mightily afraid — of the 
great front attic. She says there are rats. She 
would not visit the attic at midnight for anything. 
I know what I am saying, certainement , oui. She 
says that she dreads the rats; and I know by her 
face that she does not think there are only rats in 
the front attic. We will not enquire what she thinks, 
mesdemoiselles. It is best for us to trade on her 
fears and have our fun.” 

“ That is quite as it should be,” exclaimed Juli- 
ette de Tournay. “ It will be a very great fete — the 
most magnifique we have ever had; and all in hon- 
our of Joyce Selby.” 

“ Ah, but — but she is worthy ! ” exclaimed Ed- 
mee Leroux. “ It is good,” she continued, “ that 
this is a half holiday, for I myself and the Com- 
tesse Caterina de Mori, and you, Gemma Ravella, 
can help to decorate the attic for our great midnight 
fete. We will have little candles in sconces, all the 
candles turned one way, so that if a step is heard 
on the stairs we can quickly extinguish them. And 
I have placed in one corner of the attic a bag of 
potatoes, which Muriel can set rolling — rolling. No- 
body knows the rolling of potatoes from the scram- 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


21 


He of rats. Ah, but we are safe, quite safe, and we 
are provided, are we not, Muriel ? with means by 
which to terrify, if it is necessary, but there will 
be no step on the stairs ” 

“ We have got,” said Muriel, speaking in her dis- 
tinct and beautiful French, which nevertheless had 
an English accent under its correctness, “ we have 
got to instruct Joyce Selby in the rules of our So - 
ciete de J oie. If she elects to become a mem- 
ber ” 

“ If she elects ? ” interrupted Caterina in a 
haughty voice. “ Is there a doubt on the subject ? ” 

“ dSTo doubt, of course,” replied Muriel. “ But in 
any case she must take the vows which demand ab- 
solute secrecy — betrayal means that not one girl in 
the School — at least not one girl who belongs to 
the Societe de Joie — will speak to her again.” 

“ That is of the most correct,” replied Caterina, 
and then the girls dispersed, going back to their dif- 
ferent class-rooms. 

It was the custom at La Chapelle to make a great 
fuss about a new pupil, and this fuss was made 
whatever the rank of the said pupil might be. She 
might even be, in a certain sense, poor, or of no ac- 
count, like Edmee Leroux, who was the daughter of 
a wine-merchant in Tourelle, and who had not the 
privilege of putting “ de ” before her name. Ed- 
mee had entered the school with just the same eclat 
and ceremony as was vouchsafed to the stately young 
English Mees, Joyce Selby. Edmee was not the 


22 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


least ashamed of her father or his trade. She was 
so good-natured that even the proud Comtesse 
Caterina de Mori could not help liking her. She 
liked Edmee as much as she hated Jeanne Gerusez, 
who had come from Lyon and was the daughter of 
a great silk merchant. J eanne was slightly disagree^ 
able, and slightly, very slightly, cunning, she had 
never been invited to join the Societe de Joie, but 
she strongly suspected its existence and was only 
hiding her time to find out if that wonderful story 
with regard to the rats was true. She was, however, 
slightly afraid of the extreme dignity of Alain de 
St. Aignan, of Marguerite de Marni, of Juliette de 
Tournay; and of all those girls in the School, she 
was most in fear of that pretty English girl, Hope 
Ashley. There was something so honest and fear- 
less in Hope’s face, that somehow Jeanne actually 
expressed it to Edmee she could not possibly get on 
with her. Jeanne was full of observation, however 
— quite as much as was Edmee Leroux — and she 
could not but remark that Hope never spoke of rats 
in connection with the School; hut she was invari- 
ably cheerful and obliging, and everyone liked her. 

On this particular afternoon, which was made a 
half-holiday on account of the arrival of the young 
English girl, Joyce Selby, Hope and Joyce went for 
a walk after the morning lessons had come to an 
end. The joyful permission had been given that 
the English girls might speak English to each other 
during the half-holiday, while the French girls 


THE RECEPTION - FEAST. 


23 


might speak either language as they pleased. Hope 
and Joyce started off for their walk in the best of 
spirits. The Comtesse Caterina de Mori saw them 
go; so also did Muriel St. John. The Comtesse gave 
a little mocking laugh, and turning to Muriel, said : 

“ I thought the great heiress from Angleterre was 
to he your friend, cherie.” 

“ So she will be,” was Muriel’s response. “ But, 
comprenez-vous, you must give me time. She knew 
Hope when they were both little children.” 

“ I take,” continued Muriel, drawing herself up 
to her full slender height, “ about a week to estab- 
lish a friendship. I shall commence this evening, 
when I invite her to accompany me to the Societe de 
J oie.” 

Caterina tapped her tiny foot and looked impa- 
tiently at the tall English girl. 

“ The most beautiful and the most stately Hope 
Ashley has refused to join our Societe de Joie,” she 
remarked. “ She thinks it sinful ; nest ce pas ?” 

“ Ah ! do not ask me what she thinks,” said Muriel 
in a voice of great impatience. 

“ Mais chere Mile. Muriel,” exclaimed the young 
•Comtesse, “ art thou indeed fair to the beloved Hope 
Ashley ? Why dost thou deprive her of her friends ? 
Thou hast taken me from her; thou hast taken 
Juliette and others from her, and now thou dost wish 
to take the lovely young English Mees — Miss Selby, 
who is her own first cousin — from her. Ah! but I 


24 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


know — I am sure — art thou not of the sort — the 
most greedy — Muriel St. J ohn ? ” 

“ Greedy ? Mais non ” cried Muriel. “ But I 
have reasons of my own for wishing to make friends 
with Joyce Selby.” 

“ Ah, bah ! ” cried the Comtesse, “ it is all be- 
cause she has the argent ” 

“ Nothing of the sort,” said Muriel. 

“ But she has the argent,” exclaimed Caterina. 
“ Is it not so, Muriel ?” 

“ I imagine that she is very rich,” said Muriel ; 
“ hut how can riches possibly affect a schoolgirl ? ” 

Caterina remained silent and looked thoughtful. 
Then she brought out her words slowly, speaking in 
broken English: 

“ The demoiselle, Joyce Selby, is also beautiful, 
with beauty the most rare, and with dignity the 
most superb. I adore her! She will be adored by 
every demoiselle in this School. Such adoration 
must turn her head. Be quick in making thy friend- 
ship, Muriel St. John; for soon she will be swept, 
metaphorically, from thy arms, and — ah, listen! I 
heard Mees Tabor and Mees Davenport and Fraulein 
Schwann, as well as Mile. Armor, all declare that 
one so gifted as this English Mees, had never come 
to the School before. Think of it, Muriel — think 
what it all means. Clever, ah! clever, beautiful, 
riche, and distinguee. Ah, but you will have a fight 
to win the friendship of Mees Joyce Selby.” 

Muriel’s face became very red. 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


25 


“ Shall we go up and prepare the front attic for 
the Societe de Joie ?” she said. “ The other demoi- 
selles will he waiting and ready. Edmee must have 
brought in the provisions by now. I will fetch fine 
linen from my own special trunk, and we must step 
softly. All the teachers are out and they don’t 
count; Mile. Suzanne may be about, but she — she 
is a little fly, who will never tell because she would 
fear to tell. Shall we meet, say, in five minutes in. 
the great front attic ? ” 

Cater ina nodded and turned away. Muriel flew 
lightly upstairs to a certain room where the Eng- 
lish girls’ trunks were kept These trunks were al- 
lowed to he carefully locked, and each girl possessed 
her own key or keys. Muriel now took from the 
depths of one of her trunks about a dozen bright tin 
sconces, a little packet of coloured wax tapers, a large 
white tablecloth of the finest old Irish damask, a roll 
of green baize, and a piece of crimson silk, which, 
deftly arranged, was to make a centrepiece. She 
came out of the box-room with her hands full, 
looked carefully round her, and then perceiving no 
one in sight, dashed swiftly upstairs to the great 
front attic. The attics of the old house had been 
altogether deserted since the nuns had left, even 
the servants refusing to sleep there — each of them 
making the invariable excuse that there were rats, 
hut each of them believing that there was some- 
thing else. It was whispered in the School, and 
Muriel had set the whisper going, that the Mother 


26 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


Superior whose bones lay buried near wbat bad 
once been the altar in the little old chapel, walked 
these attics at night. As a matter of fact it was 
Muriel herself, who, having cleverly and carefully 
copied the dress of an old French nun, glided once 
or twice across the boards and partly down the some- 
what rickety stairs. She had found this disguise 
most useful. It kept prying eyes away from the 
attics, and enabled her and certain of her companions 
to have their fun. She kept her disguise in an un- 
used cupboard in the front attic, and was careful on 
no account to use it except in an emergency. Even 
Hope Ashley, who used to be her constant and de- 
voted friend, knew nothing whatever of this, nor 
did Constance Wheeler, who was a whole-hearted, 
good-natured English girl, not in the least inclined 
for midnight pranks, but Muriel delighted in them. 

As she rushed upstairs now to join her chosen 
companions and to make all due preparations for the 
fete of the Societe de Joie , she thought herself un- 
seen. But Jeanne Gerusez had peeped out of a re- 
cess and glanced after her, had nodded her wee lit- 
tle French head knowingly, and then went off to look 
in vain for her chosen friend, Edmee Leroux. But 
Edmee belonged to the Societe de Joie, and was 
busy in the great attic. Soon the girls who were on 
the committee, as it was called, had completed their 
preparation. A table composed of a long board, 
supported at either end by trestles, was placed in 
the centre of the room. On this table Muriel first 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


27 


put her thick baize cloth, then her lovely white 
Irish linen tablecloth, then her crimson silk centre- 
piece. Finally the sconces were arranged at inter- 
vals down the long table; tapers were securely fast- 
ened into each; a box of matches was left handy; 
and the contents of Citoyenne Pelven’s large flat 
basket were placed here and there on little coloured 
paper dishes. The whole effect was at once bizarre 
and even striking in the wide low room with its slop- 
ing roof and its tiny windows. In its centre a long 
table groaned with dainty food. Round the table 
Muriel, Caterina, Genette, Juliette, Edmee, and 
others, placed benches, broken chairs, and other 
makeshift seats. The final act was to fasten dark 
green curtains against the two low windows. The 
Comtesse Caterina de Mori and Muriel St. John, 
who both undoubtedly took the lead on this occasion, 
gave Edmee Leroux and Genette Monita explicit di- 
rections with regard to securing the rest of the prov- 
ender, and in especial the sirop, which were all to be 
carried up to the attic and placed carefully at one 
side of the room during the course of the evening. 
All preparations were at last made; Muriel walked 
to a corner of the room, raised the little bag of po- 
tatoes, by which she was able to simulate the noise 
of rats running quickly, glanced at the cupboard 
which contained the disguise of the poor Mother 
Superior, and then with a light laugh turned to 
Caterina de Mori and put her hand through her 


arm. 


28 


THE RECEPTION FEAST. 


“ All is in readiness at last/’ she said, “ we shall 
have a great fete to-night.” 

“Ah, oui, cherie!” cried the Comtesse, “it will 
be truly magnifique . Thou art a genius, Muriel St. 
John.” 

But as the two girls, still arm in arm, approached 
the lower part of the great old house, the Comtesse 
said with the faintest touch of irony in her tones: 

“ Thou clever Muriel, I will believe in thy friend- 
ship for the English Mees who holds in her posses- 
sion the argent , the beauty, the dignity, and the 
great, great genius, when — and only when — I be- 
hold it.” 

“ In one week you will behold it, Caterina de 
Mori,” said Muriel with a flush on her face. 


CHAPTER III. 


JOYCE. 

It had been so arranged perhaps by accident, per- 
haps by design — no one can quite tell about these 
things — that Joyce Selby’s little bedroom — in other 
words the old nun’s cell, which had been arranged 
for her in the English girls’ dormitory — was sit- 
uated next to that of Muriel St. John; whereas Hope 
Ashley’s tiny room was at the extreme further end 
of the great dormitory. On the night of her arrival 
Joyce looked round her in some bewilderment, won- 
dering how she could ever reconcile herself to so 
cramped a space, to so plain and severe an apart- 
ment. But Joyce was by nature a girl who made 
the very best of circumstances ; and she did not utter 
a word of complaint, nor even remark to her school- 
fellows that her room was minute and terribly plain, 
and just a wee bit depressing. Joyce had come, it 
is true, from a luxurious English home, situated 
in the very best part of that shire famous for its 
beauty — Warwickshire. From the old battlements 
of the ancient castle which would one day belong 
to her, she could see the far-famed Warwick Castle, 
and even Guy’s Tower, situated in its lonely splen- 
29 


30 


JOYCE. 


dour amidst its dark trees. It had been thought 
well by her guardians that Joyce Selby, aged six- 
teen years, should come to a first-rate French School 
before she took her place in that society which al- 
ways holds out a welcoming hand to its wealthy 
young debutantes . But Joyce Selby had a nature 
far, very far, above the sordid and mean things of 
life. She looked upon the wealth which would be 
hers when she came of age as a talent to be spent 
for others — as something for which she must one 
day give an account. There was also a peculiarity 
about Joyce. She had such a passionate love for 
learning for its own sake that she hardly thought 
at all about her money or her great position, com- 
pared to the delight of acquiring knowledge. The 
great School for the French demoiselles and the 
English Mees’s, the Italian Signorinas and the Ger- 
man Frauleins — the School which had once been a 
convent and now went by the name of La Chapelle, 
the School which had as its principal Madame la 
Comtesse de Tres — appealed to this young girl. She 
heard of it from her own French governess, who 
had received some years’ education there. She 
begged of her guardians to send her to La Chapelle 
for two years. All necessary arrangements were 
made. Joyce insisted on having nothing beyond 
what the poorest girl in the establishment possessed 
— her future wealth was not to be spoken of, not to 
be thought of. She would see the world, the French 
world, for herself. Nevertheless, and in spite of 


JOYCE. 


31 


every care, whispers had got abroad with regard to 1 
Miss Joyce Selby; and these whispers had reached, 
the ears, not only of Madame la Comtesse but also 
of Mile. Armor, Fraulein Schwann and other teach- 
ers in the School. Even gay, bright little Mile. 
Suzanne had heard of the riches of the new Eng- 
lish girl, and in ecstasies had whispered a word here, 
and nodded a bright look there, which gave Joyce’s 
little secret more or less away. 

Hence the excitement and the great fuss with re- 
gard to her arrival; hence the half-holiday; hence 
the special diner in Madame la Comtesse’s salle d 
manger ; and hence above all things, amongst the 
committee of the Societe de Joie, for the midnight 
fete. The young committee resolved that they must 
secure this rich English Mees as a member of their 
Society; they must bind her by their rules and get 
her to take their vows. Muriel was the person who 
was entrusted with the task of securing the new 
member ; but the supposed new member herself knew 
nothing whatsoever about it. After a walk with 
Hope, after the delightful conversation between the 
two friends, one or two eager, curious girls had seen 
the beautiful English Mees approaching that room 
which was set apart for Madame la Comtesse. This 
room was on the ground floor, almost exactly over 
the old chapel — that old chapel which was now de- 
serted, and which only the most inquisitive of the 
girls ever visited. Madame la Comtesse had ar- 
ranged her private room in purely French style. 


32 


JOYCE. 


White satin papers were on the walls; the large 
doors were painted a dazzling white; mirrors, many 
in number, were placed here and there ; small water- 
colour drawings in the style of the newest French 
painters were suspended from rails which ran round 
the top of the walls. The lounges, the sofas, the 
chairs, were stiff and comfortless. There was the 
invariable white stove to warm the room. The floor 
was parquetted and highly polished, and here and 
there were great rugs — some rich Persian, some 
Turkish, some again of Parisian make. Madame al- 
ways held herself severely erect. She was a tall, 
slender woman of close on forty years of age. She 
wore a little French cap formed of lace as fine as a 
cobweb. Her dress was flowered black silk with a 
long train; the flowers were made of all colours — 
roses, carnations, honeysuckle, and even heliotrope. 
Madame wore openwork stockings and small high- 
heeled shoes. On her tiny hands were placed little 
delicate French lace mitts. She might be indeed the 
chatelaine belonging to one of the Castles which 
used to be held so proudly by the ancienne noblesse 
of La Belle France. Her eyes were dark and pierc- 
ing, her features aquiline, and her hair, still black 
as jet, was raised above her lofty brow on to a high 
pillow, on which again the exquisite little French 
cap was placed. Altogether no one could look more 
dignified or worthy than Madame la Comtesse, the 
head of the great School. Joyce saw in a moment 
that she was in the presence of a great lady. She 


JOYCE. 


33 


Fad not recognised this fact so keenly on the night 
of her arrival, but now it was all too apparent. Her 
cheeks flushed with pleasure. She could appreciate 
a lady, being one in the best sense of the word 
herself. She made a swift graceful curtesy, and 
then stood gravely before her Mistress. 

Madame looked her swiftly all over. It is the 
gift of a Frenchwoman to take in all details at a 
glance. Madame was pleased — nay, delighted — with 
her young pupil. She could speak English as flu- 
ently as French. As she looked straight into Joyce’s 
eyes — so dark, so fascinatingly bright — she felt 
something stir within that frozen member which she 
called her heart. Madame was a woman not easily 
moved to emotion, but the sweet, noble, beautiful 
face opposite to her, joined to the knowledge of the 
girl’s wealth, of her extreme beauty, and — according 
to the teachers, both English and French — her very 
remarkable talents, caused her to feel that flutter of 
the heart-strings which she had not experienced for 
many a long day. 

Madame now said softly in the English tongue : 

“ I beg of you to seat yourself, Mademoiselle ; it 
is a pleasure to me to see you in my salle ” 

“ I felt I must come,” replied J oyce, speaking in 
low and yet somewhat rapid tones ; “ for I want to 
beg of you, chere Madame, to — to beg of you a very 
great favour.” 

“ If it is possible, my child, it is granted,” replied 
the Comtesse. 


34 


JOYCE. 


“ Then, Madame, I know jour cleverness, and 
above all things I trust to jour wisdom. It pleases 
me to he a member of jour School. I have com© 
here with an object — verj direct and verj sure. I 
want, Madame la Comtesse, to learn all I can. I 
love music, and I want to be instructed in the best 
possible manner in that most noble art. I think I 
can sing, and I should like to have mj voice trained. 
As to French, I know it a little alreadj, but I want 
it to become as mj native tongue. I want to be- 
come friends with those of jour French demoiselles 
who will care to accept mj friendship. An English 
cousin of mine, I find to mj intense delight, is al- 
readj here — Hope Ashlej. Hope and I have known 
each other since we were babies. Hope and I must 
aiwajs be the verj closest friends. I want, in short, 
dear Madame, to learn all — yes all — that jour 
School can impart to me ; for I — I thirst for knowl- 
edge.” 

“ Your words are admirable,” said the Comtesse. 
“ Thej shall be attended to — jes , unto the letter; 

but ” she paused and fixed her glowing black 

ejes on the beautiful face of the English girl — “ jou 
have not come here,” she continued, “ onlj to saj 
those words to me — Mile. Jojce Selbj — for such ad- 
mirable words as jou have spoken could be convejed 
to me through Mile. Armor, or Miss Tabor. There 
is something else — something at the back of jour 
head.” 

“ Ah, Madame, jou are verj wise,” said Jojce, a 


JOYCE. 


35 


brilliant smile lighting up her face like a sunbeam. 
“ And if you will allow me, I will speak plainly.” 

“ Plain words are seldom allowed between a pupil 
and her principal,” remarked Madame. “ But I 
permit it, Joyce. Notice that I call you by your 
pretty name alone, quite alone. I permit that you 
speak to me absolutely from your heart.” 

“ Thank you very much indeed, dear Madame. 
What I have come to say is this: it has been ru- 
moured in the School — how, I do not know — but it 
has got abroad that some day I shall he rich. Now, 
Madame, will you please attend. Above all things 
on earth, I do not wish that rumour to spread or 
in any sense to be acted on. I wish, Madame la 
Comtesse, to be treated exactly the same as what- 
ever demoiselle in your School is the poorest and 
the lowest in rank. I wish this most earnestly. I 
do not want my English affairs to be spoken of. 
My friend, Hope Ashley, knows about them, of 
course ; and you, Madame, know something — though, 
perhaps, not quite all; but others have caught the 
fatal words — that I am rich. In this School I 
choose to be poor — poor. Then, and then only, I 
can take my rightful place — my true position as I 
myself , Joyce Selby, a young girl who would like 
to be good if she can be good, and to acquire knowl- 
edge if she can acquire knowledge. Will you help 
me in this matter, dear Comtesse? Will you give 
me your advice, your confidence ? And will you sup- 


36 


JOYCE. 


press the whispers which are fatal to my real happi- 
ness in your School ? ” 

Madame la Comtesse looked in unbounded aston- 
ishment at Joyce. She rose suddenly from her seat. 

“ So you really wish to hide one of your great 
gifts,” she said. “ I respect you for the desire ; 
and if I can — and I believe it is possible — I will 
help you. But do not for a moment imagine, Joyce 
Selby, that it is in you to sink to a low level in this 
School. For you have — ah, they are great gifts ! — 
beauty, dignity and genius. You will hold your 
own, and you must do so for the sake — for the sake 
of your beloved Angleterre and the home of your 
fathers.” 

“ That — that I can manage,” said J oyce. “ Thank 
you from my very heart, Madame; all that follows 
will be easy.” 

The girl made again a profound curtesy, but 
Madame took her little hand and, raising it to her 
lips, kissed it. 

“ Thus we seal our compact, Joyce,” she said. 

Joyce immediately afterwards left the room. 
Madame la Comtesse was left alone, wrapped in deep 
meditation. After a minute she sighed. 

“ Ah ! ” she muttered to herself, “ how truly noble, 
how altogether charmante. I could love her as a 
daughter. Since my own only child died I have 
never been so drawn to anyone. If I can manage 
it, it shall be as she wishes. There are girls in this 
School who would cringe, ah, bah! — cbinge before 


JOYCE. 


37 


her wealth. But not one of them will dare to cringe 
before her superb young beauty.” Madame went to 
a bell, rang it, and asked that Miss Tabor should 
come to her. The lady and her favourite English 
teacher had a few very earnest words together. 
Then Madame continued her vocations for the day 
just as though nothing special had occurred. 

Joyce felt a good deal relieved by her interview 
with Madame la Comtesse; and when in the course 
of the evening Muriel St. J ohn sat down by her side, 
and began to display all those fascinations which to 
a great extent she possessed, Joyce was grave, digni- 
fied, polite and perfectly pleasant to her. But try 
as she would, and Muriel poked very hard, she could 
not get one allusion from Joyce Selby with regard 
to her English life and her English home. On the 
contrary Joyce so plied her with questions with re- 
gard to the School and the methods of work, that 
Muriel soon found that she could scarcely edge in a 
word. Joyce said quite simply: 

“ I want to know where I am ; I want to know 
everything. Then I shall be able to get to work, for 
it is the one thing I love.” 

“ And it is the work that I hate,” replied Muriel, 
fixing her large pale blue eyes on the dark glowing 
ones of her young companion. “ But why should 
you ask me about these matters? Surely Hope can 
tell you.” 

“ Hope has told me a good deal,” answered J oyce. 


38 


JOYCE. 


“ But I want to see things from several people’s point 
of view.” 

“ Ah,” said Muriel, “ it is true then that you are 
clever as well as very rich.” 

Joyce made no sort of reply. She gazed with a 
pleasant expression on her face straight before her. 

“ I wonder if she is deaf ? ” thought Muriel some- 
what angrily — “ this English heiress and beauty!” 

Muriel thought over this possibility for a mo- 
ment, then changing her tones, she said quietly: 

“ You must have been greatly surprised to see 
Hope last night.” 

“ I was.” 

“ She is a very great friend of mine ” said Muriel. 

“ Yes?” replied Joyce, in a slightly interrogative 
way. 

“ A very, very great friend,” repeated Muriel. 
“ And you,” she added, “ have you known her 
long?” 

“ For the greater part of my life.” 

“ You are cousins, are you not ? ” 

“We are.” 

“ Then perhaps you lived in the — the same Cas- 
tle? ” 

“We have never lived in the same house, Miss 
St. John, until now. It is a very great pleasure 
to find her here.” 

“ Do you know,” said Muriel impulsively, “ that 
at School — more particularly amongst the English 
girls — we call ourselves by our Christian names. 


JOYCE. 


39 


May I be Muriel to you, and will you be Joyce to 
me ? ” 

“ If it is the custom, of course,” said Joyce. 

“ It is the invariable custom ; and,” continued 
Muriel, “ I should like to beg for something now. 
It is this. Can we not — two English girls — be 
friends ? ” 

“ I hope so, Muriel,” said J oyce very gravely. 

“ But I mean special — most special friends \ ” 

“ Ah,” replied J oyce, “ that takes a long, a very 
long time.” 

Muriel felt her face flush. She heard a low, 
smothered laugh; and looking quickly round, saw 
that Jeanne Gerusez was crouching in a corner, pre- 
tending to be absorbed over her French book. Muriel 
spoke to her rapidly in French. Jeanne said: 

“ I laugh because of the funny, funny words, in 
my most charming book.” Then hunching up her 
high, broad shoulders, she walked rapidly away. 

Muriel turned with her angry face to Joyce. 

“ That is the girl I hate most in the School,” she 
said. “ She has no right to be here. She is only the 
daughter of a silk manufacturer at Lyon.” 

“ But surely that does not matter,” replied Joyce. 

“ Not matter ? ” cried Muriel “ Why, she is not 
a lady. She is without ' de ' before her name. It 
is true that Imelda Olivetta and Gemma Bavella are 
also without ‘ de * ; but their ancestors are Italian, 
and they are quite, quite charming. You will meet 
them to-night, Joyce. Adieu, for the present.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A SURPRISE. 

All was in complete readiness for tlie Fete de 
Joie . Nothing had been left undone. Even the 
sconces had been privately lit from the box of 
matches — a match applied to each little wax taper 
until a glimmering soft light pervaded the long make- 
shift table. The Societe up to the present numbered 
thirty girls, all of whom had been most carefully 
selected by the young Comtesse de Mori, by Imelda 
Olivetta, and in especial and above all things by 
Muriel St. John. Edmee Leroux, although she was- 
not of the same high rank as her companions, was 
so useful, so eager, so unselfish, that she was ad- 
mitted into membership, and there were few girls 
more valuable to the Societe than the bright, eager 
young Edmee. Edmee was most careful never to 
breathe a word of the fact that she was a member 
of this great secret society. Even if her friend, 
Jeanne Gerusez, pressed her hard, she could not 
get even the ghost of a murmur of the true state of 
things from those firm young lips. All in vain! 
Jeanne even tried _ to employ guile, promising Ed- 
mee that she would invite her to Lyon in the sum- 
40 


A SURPRISE. 


41 


mer and show her all the delights of that busy town 
of mid France. She even went to the extreme length 
of promising Edmee a piece of the very best silk for 
a dress, that famous silk which her father made in 
his great and thriving works. Still Edmee was firm, 
and J eanne gave her up in despair, determined, how- 
ever, to get at the secret, whatever it was, if not by 
guile yet in some other manner. Jeanne, however, 
had some difficulties to contend with. If Edmee, 
notwithstanding the fact that she had not “ de ” be- 
fore her name, was a general favourite with English, 
French, German and Italian girls alike; with Eng- 
lish and French teachers alike; poor Jeanne was in- 
variably in the black books of eager young pupils 
and enthusiastic teachers. Nevertheless, Jeanne 
was, if she was nothing else, very cunning, and she 
resolved, like the patient cat who watches the mouse, 
to bide her time. 

With what ecstasy she had listened to the grave 
and stately replies of Joyce Selby to Muriel St. 
John. Oh, if only she could have such a girl as 
Joyce for her own friend, then indeed she might 
snap her fingers at the rest of the school. But now 
the hour of rest had come. Teachers and pupils had 
said bonne nuit ; the French, German and Italian 
girls had repaired to their dormitories, the English 
girls to theirs. 

At half-past nine to the moment, the various pu- 
pils at La Chapelle were expected to retire for the 
night. At ten o’clock the electric lights were extin- 


42 


A SURPRISE. 


guished, and soon after that hour the teachers, 
French, German and English, went to their respect- 
ive rooms. 

Joyce Selby had not slept very well on the pre- 
vious night. Her tiny room was strange to her. 
She was disappointed at not being put into a cosy 
little bedroom near her very dear friend and cousin, 
Hope Ashley. She also found her very narrow white 
bed just a trifle cold. She lay very quiet, trembling 
a little at the strangeness of her surroundings, but 
the second night all was different. The girl was 
really tired, and her head did not rest many mo- 
ments on her pillow before she was sound asleep. 
Once more she was back in old England, in the 
lovely home where she had spent all her young days ; 
in the luxurious bedroom, which was filled with her 
most private possessions. She forgot the French 
school, the French girls, the English girls, even 
Madame La Comtesse, even her dearest friend, Hope 
Ashley. But suddenly in the midst of her placid 
dreams, a hand, light as a feather, was laid on her 
shoulder. J oyce started and became immediately 
wide awake. 

u I come to you with a most urgent message, 
Joyce,” said the silvery tones of Muriel St. John. 
<( I want you to come with me at once. Put on your 
very warmest dressing-gown. Ah, a tea-gown is 
better — I see it hanging on the wall. It is wadded 
throughout. That will do perfectly. The night is 
not cold. It is too early for cold weather yet. You 


A SURPRISE. 


43 


will slip on your stockings and your little fur slip- 
pers. Come immediately, Joyce, I beseech of you, 
for the summons is most urgent.” 

“ But what is it ? ” said J oyce. “ Is anything 

wrong ? 99 

“ No — no, everything is right — more than right — 
joyful — most joyful. But my beloved new friend, 
you will tread, softly; you will come at once.” 

“ I don’t understand you, but I suppose I will 
come,” said Joyce. 

“ Speak low, I beseech of you,” murmured Muriel. 
“ Do not whisper a word to the uninitiated. Ah, 
now you are dressed. Are you certain you will be 
warm enough. Here — I will bring this. This will 
secure you against chill, and it will suit you, 
cherie — it will fit your magnificent dark beauty.” 

As Muriel spoke she caught up a crimson cash- 
mere shawl, took Joyce’s little hand and whispering 
again in her ear, “ not a word — not a sound ; follow 
me and tread softly,” she led the bewildered girl 
down the greater length of the long corridor, past 
the tiny room where Hope slept peacefully and un- 
suspiciously, past the further room where Fraulein 
Schwann snored most audibly; and then, unhasping 
the great door, which had previously been well oiled 
for the occasion, stood with her young companion on 
the broad landing without. 

Joyce felt inclined to be a little restive. What 
could this mean ? What was the matter ? Suddenly 
she heard flapping sounds, something like those 


44 


A SURPRISE. 


made by bats’ wings in summer, and, getting more 
accustomed to the gloom, for the night was a dark 
one, perceived that several girls in different shades 
and degrees of deshabille were all flitting past them 
and going up some narrow, steep and partly broken 
stairs. 

“ Come, come,” said Muriel, “ we will follow.” 

Joyce, wondering whether she was awake or in a 
dream, allowed herself to be led up the broken stairs. 
A minute later a door was flung wide ; gay laughter 
sounded in her ears; and numbers of French, Eng- 
lish and Italian girls surrounded her 

“ Welcome, thrice welcome — welcome to our new 
Queen. Welcome to the Societe de Joie ” exclaimed 
each eager young voice. 

Muriel turned the sconces with a quick movement, 
so that their light should fall especially and fully 
on the face of Joyce Selby. She then, without a 
word, led her to the head of the long table and placed 
her by her own side. 

Meanwhile the young Comtesse Caterina de Mori 
came softly up from behind and put a crown of bay 
leaves round J oyce’s head. 

“ Thus we crown our Queen,” she said. 

As she said the words, she turned and spoke rap- 
idly in French to a group of girls who were stand- 
ing more or less in shadow. Immediately they all 
went on one knee, held up supplicating hands, and 
began to invoke blessings on the new Queen of the 
Societe de Joie. 


A SURPRISE. 


45 


“ We will eat now, afterwards we will speak,” 
said Muriel. 

“ Ah, ah, hut I am famished,” cried Gemma Ra- 
vella. 

“ And I — and I,” exclaimed Juliette de Tournay, 
Edmee Leroux, and Marguerite de Mami. 

“ And I also,” cried the Comtesse Caterina de 
Mori. “ Good Muriel, clever Muriel, we will eat 
first and talk afterwards.” 

As the Comtesse spoke she turned abruptly to the 
table. 

“ Gracious Queen Joyce,” she exclaimed, “ of 
which of these good things will you partake ? Here 
is strop made from the best last year’s strawberries, 
and here again is sirop of the pine — the pineapple, I 
mean. Here is water from the well, the coldest and 
purest in the whole of the town of Tourelle. Ah, 
Queen Joyce, which sirop will you take; and of these 
cakes and tartlets, into which will you set your 
dainty white teeth? They are all — all of the very 
best, and made specially in your honour by the good 
Citoyenne Pelven. Eat, Queen Joyce, eat and 
drink. We also will eat and drink, glad to have one 
like you as our Queen.” 

Joyce Selby looked round her with grave wonder- 
ing eyes. After the first few startled moments, she 
was not greatly surprised, nor did she wish, as she 
expressed it afterwards, to create a scene. The in- 
tensely happy faces of the young girls surrounding 
her, the innocent sincerity of their worship, touched 


46 


A SURPRISE. 


her in spite of herself. She had by nature a great 
deal of fun and daring in her composition, and if 
Hope had been present she might almost have been 
happy. She tasted, therefore, the sirop made of 
pineapple, and broke a morsel of sandwich of pate 
de foie gras and put it between her lips. When 
pressed to partake of chocolates, she also helped her- 
self to one or two, hut nothing could alter the ex- 
treme gravity of her lovely deep dark eyes. 

The French and English girls, satisfied that they 
had won the great English heiress, that Muriel had 
been true to her word, gave themselves up with all 
abandon to the delights of the fete. From time to 
time their eager eyes — brown eyes, grey eyes, blue 
eyes, eyes of all shades and all colours — were fixed 
on the face of Joyce Selby. Yes, she would make a 
glorious Queen. For one whole year she would hold 
her sovereignty, and during that time much might 
he done for the improvement and the delights of the 
Societe de Joie. 

The girls at the lower end of the long table whis- 
pered to each other of w 7 hat might happen in the 
summertime, when they could feast in the adjacent 
woods and even each wear her favourite fairy cos- 
tume. They would each and all imagine themselves 
fairies for the time being, and this graye and beauti- 
ful Joyce would help them. 

Hitherto the Societe had more or less languished 
for lack of funds, but this would not happen in fu- 
ture, for was not the new Queen wealthy of the 



Nothing in all the world could be more dignified and stately 
than her action . — Page 47 . 




















/ 


















! 










' 




















t 










* 
















* 


































♦ 






l 


* 






































A SURPRISE. 


47 


wealthy, as well as — oh, beautiful of the beautiful? 

“ Yes,” said Gemma Kavella, “ we will go far this 
summer when indeed the summer approaches. With 
such a Queen as we now possess we can do — in fact 
anything.” 

The words had scarcely passed her lips before a 
sudden and unexpected stir at the further end of the 
long table caused each girl to raise her eyes. 

Joyce had sipped a little sirop , had eaten one or 
two chocolates, had munched her dainty sandwich, 
and now she rose from her seat, gently hut firmly 
removed the crown of bay leaves from her brow and 
laid it on the table. 

Nothing in all the world could be more dignified 
and stately than her action. She was wearing a very 
long tea-gown of rich crimson silk. The sleeves were 
long and wide and fell away from her beautifully 
rounded white arms. The little collar of old lace 
revealed the stately column of her young neck. She 
spoke suddenly, calmly, and collectedly: 

“ I thank you all very much indeed and from the 
bottom of my heart, but I have not the least idea 
what this means. I do not know why you speak to 
me as Queen. I am not ‘ Queen ’ and never could 
be. It is most kind of you — one and all — to give 
me such a cordial welcome, and believe me, I recip- 
rocate your kindness, but will you forgive me if I 
confess that I am sleepy now and should like to re- 
turn to my bed ?” 

A few girls at the further end of the attic gave a 


48 


A SURPRISE. 


howl of discontent and disappointment. The Com- 
tesse Caterina whispered a few words in Muriel’s 
ear, and Muriel, laying her hand very gently on 
Joyce’s shoulder, was about to speak. 

Her words were ready and were all prepared for 
this possible interruption — Muriel had a great deal 
of penetration of character — and the possibility of 
Joyce refusing the proffered honour had of course 
occurred to her. 

But before she could get in a single word the Com- 
tesse Caterina de Mori had given a preconcerted 
signal to a group of girls half English, half French, 
who stood in a little knot at the further end of the 
attic. All these girls were dressed in the very sim- 
plest white. They now came forward — about twelve 
in number — and suddenly surrounded Joyce Selby. 

She found herself standing in their midst in her 
deep crimson robe, with her black hair falling heav- 
ily over her lovely neck and shoulders. 

The wild-rose tint grew deeper in her cheeks, and 
her lovely eyes — so dark, so penetrating — were fixed 
with an appeal which was almost sorrowful on the 
young faces which pressed close to her own. She 
was now far away from Muriel, and in spite of her- 
self this fact made her glad. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by a sound at 
once so solemn, so very gentle, so intensely sweet 
that J oyce found the tears filling her eyes. For the 
whole bevy of white-robed maidens were singing — 
for her and about her. 


A SURPRISE. 


49 


Their words came to her ears, and sounded to her 
as about the most lovely and compelling she had ever 
heard. Who, oh, who had written these lines of wel- 
come — who had set them to such entrancing music ? 

They came out soft and low and could not well be 
heard outside the great attic. 

To you we bow, most gracious Queen, 

We greet the lady who has been 
First in our thoughts, although unseen. 

We ask you now, dear lady fair, 

To help us all our joys to share, 

To be our comfort everywhere. 

We place our crown upon your head, 

The upward path with you we tread; 

In peace and love, oh, lead us now, 

To you sweet lady do we bow; 

The roughness will grow smooth with you, 

The old sad times with you be new; 

Queen, Queen, Queen, we adore you; 

Leave us not, we implore you. 

The sweet young notes died meltingly away. 
Joyce, in spite of every effort, felt the tears falling 
down her cheeks. For quite a moment there was 
absolute silence — almost indeed a silence that might 
be felt — then pretty Juliette de Tournay broke the 
spell — she bent a little forward, took the crown of 
bay from its place on the supper table and attempted 
to replace it on the pretty head of J oyce Selby. As 
she did this the entire soft-voiced choir broke out 
yet again with the words : 


50 


A SURPRISE. 


Queen, Queen, Queen, we adore you; 

Leave us not, we implore you. 

The really lovely words of entreaty had, however, 
on this second occasion a different effect on Joyce 
Selby. 

She gravely, and with a certain superb young dig- 
nity, laid the crown again on the table, at the same 
instant placing her other hand on the shoulder of 
Juliette de Tournay. There was a subtle but very 
real love in this latter movement, and Juliette felt 
it, as she afterwards expressed, down to her finger- 
tips. 

“ When she touched me so — oh, so — I thought I 
could have died for her,” said Juliette — -the warm- 
hearted, the impulsive, the truly French of the 
French. 

But other things far more important than Juli- 
ette’s young love were in progress. 

Joyce had made her way out of the centre of the 
white-robed young girls who had sung to her so 
beautifully and called her Queen. 

She approached once again the head of the long 
table where the Comtesse de Mori and Muriel St. 
John waited for her. 

Her voice was absolutely quiet, but so distinct that 
it could be plainly heard to the further end of the 
long, low room. 

“ I do not understand this,” began Joyce; “ I was 
sound asleep and you, Muriel, woke me and brought 


A SURPRISE. 


51 


me here — I, a total stranger received a welcome most 
sincere and most touching. You have said words to 
me and treated me in such a manner that I can never 
by any possibility forget those words and that man- 
ner. Is it indeed the custom in your schools of La 
Belle France to receive the stranger as you have re- 
ceived me? I do not know. At least, dear demoi- 
selles, I am infinitely obliged. But there is one 
thing even greater than your kind words and looks 
of welcome — you asked me to become your Queen — 
yes, I, a stranger, your very Queen — and you joined 
to this very great and very beautiful request some 
charming verses — all translated into the English 
tongue. Oh, I will say so most frankly — I seldom 
was more touched in my life. It was, I think, 
partly the sentiment, partly the lovely voices of 
my young friends, partly their most charming ap- 
pearance. How I must say one thing before I go 
any further. All my life — whether that life be long 
or short — I shall remember the girls who sang to me, 
and shall — yes, it is most true — love them.” 

Here Joyce paused in her glowing words and 
looked around her. 

“ I have tried to express my feelings,” she said, 
after that brief moment of silence. “ But now it is 
absolutely necessary for me to leave the land of 
feeling and enter the land of fact. I do not know 
anything whatever about your Society; I do not 
know what you want me to be queen of; I cannot 
understand why this meeting should be held at mid- 


52 


A SURPRISE. 


night — indeed, past midnight. You are all dear and 
sweet, but I do not see my own friend, Hope Ash- 
ley, here to-night. Is Hope not well ? She would 
join anything that was really great and noble. Will 
you, Muriel St. John, and you, Comtesse de Mori, 
explain these matters to me ? I will listen with the 
greatest attention ; I will regard this matter as 
strictly private. Only permit me to know all — yes, 
all — before I decide whether I will — whether, in- 
deed, I can join you or not, for I may as well tell 
you now as later, cheres demoiselles , that my mind 
is set against all crooked things — that, in short, I 
want to talk straight” 

There was a very slight pause after Joyce had 
come to the end of her little speech, then again from 
the very far end of the room rose the lovely refrain : 

Queen, Queen, Queen, we adore you; 

Leave us not, we implore you. 


J oyce waited in a listening attitude until the sweet 
low notes had died away. At last there was abso- 
lute silence in the long atic. The thirty girls who 
formed the Societe de Joie were waiting in an atti- 
tude of intense expectation; all eyes were fixed on 
Joyce. Her expected arrival had long been com- 
mented on. The fact of her wealth had been thought 
of — thought of with intense approval — but at this 
moment, as she stood gravely facing them in her 
long, crimson silk robe, it might truly be said that 


A SURPRISE. 


53 


there was not one young girl present who gave the 
supposed riches of Joyce Selby a thought; for there 
was something about Joyce herself which singled her 
out as something very rare, very beautiful, very 
precious. In short, these young girls regarded her 
as a leader. She should be their leader. Why did 
not Muriel speak ? Why did she not quickly and at 
once explain to Joyce what was expected of her. 

The maidens in their white dresses clustered very 
close together — the rest of the girls were dressed 
more or less in what they were pleased to call “ tea- 
gowns ” of different shades and colours. Some were 
badly attired, some were dressed with extreme care. 
The young Comtesse de Mori, for instance, wore a 
tea-gown of long, golden brown velveteen. But 
Muriel, her companion and friend, was clothed from 
head to foot in the palest shade of blue — a sort of 
faint, forget-me-not blue, which added to the colour 
of her large blue eyes and brought out the gold 
tints of her masses of flaxen hair. The Comtesse 
now said a word to Muriel, who, stepping a little 
apart from the others, turned and faced Joyce. 

“ You are quite right, Joyce Selby, in wishing 
to know why I have brought you here ; why we have 
all given a big fete in your honour ; and why, above 
all things, by the unanimous decision of the thirty 
girls, English, Erench and Italian, who are here 
present, we have elected to make you our Queen.” 

“ But Queen of what ? ” said J oyce. “ That is 
what I want to know.” 


54 


A SURPRISE. 


a Ah, that is what I am coming to. You must 
have patience, cherie 

Joyce looked fixedly into the eyes of Muriel, and 
it seemed to her at that moment, in that dark, dis- 
mal, half-lit attic, that she saw clearly the shallow 
soul which dwelt behind those eyes and controlled 
the impulses of that heart. There was also a hard- 
ness about Muriel, which, notwithstanding her un- 
doubted charm, Joyce could not fail to notice. It 
seemed to Joyce Selby just then that Muriel herself 
put her on her guard. 

What was going to happen ? 

Joyce glarfced round the great room and noticed 
the eagerness, the enthusiasm, on most of the faces. 
She felt she must not look too earnestly or too closely 
at these demoiselles. She must fix her eyes on 
Muriel. Just at this junction and before Muriel 
had begun to spe^k, an old expression which had been 
much used by one of her late father’s gamekeepers, 
flashed across her brain. The man had charge of the 
pheasants and of the game generally. ITe had said 
once in Joyce’s hearing: 

“ Trapped — ah, yes, trapped, poor things ! ” 

A sudden, quick fear filled Joyce’s heart. Was 
she indeed also like the poor creatures of the woods 
— trapped ? 

Queen, Queen, Queen, we adore you; 

Leave us not, we implore you! 


A SURPRISE. 


55 


There could be nothing wrong in words so sweet 
and innocent. Joyce recovered her flagging courage 
and looked straight at Muriel. 

“ The Comtesse and I,” began Muriel, “ and all 
the other demoiselles present, belong to a very inno- 
cent and yet most charming secret society. Do not, 
I beseech of you, shrink from those words, Joyce. 
Secret societies abound in La Belle France. We 
English and we French girls founded this one some 
three or four years ago. Our little society we call 
the Societe de Joie. Our one and sole object is to 
revel, to dance when possible, to sing sweet music, 
to enjoy ourselves. We have made certain rules and 
in their way those rules are strict. One is that we 
elect a Queen, who shall superintend the Societe de 
J oie for a year. At the end of that time she resigns, 
and another girl is elected to take her place. The 
Queen, while she is in power, organises all the move- 
ments of the Society. It is she who arranges our 
different fetes. It is she who suggests our various 
forms of entertainment. She is so completely and 
absolutely our head that we owe her that allegiance 
which subjects give to a monarch. Her monarchy is 
absolute, too. Within her small hands lies the power 
of electing fresh members and of dismissing the un- 
faithful. When the news was brought to us that 
you, Joyce Selby, were coming to the School, the 
time for the election of a new Queen had arrived, 
and unanimously we resolved to lay this honour at 
your feet. We have a little book of rules, which is, 


56 


A SURPRISE. 


however, written in cypher and would have to he 
read aloud to you, in order that you may clearly 
understand it — that is, of course, until you learn our 
cypher. That knowledge can be very easily acquired, 
Joyce Selby, and I myself and the Comtesse de Mori 
will have much pleasure in instructing you.” 

“Et moi, et moi,” cried a gay, girlish voice from 
the furthest end of the room, and Juliette de Tour- 
nay, the pretty, black-eyed brunette, made a step 
forward. 

“ There will be plenty of girls willing and anx- 
ious to help you, dear Queen,” continued Muriel. 
“ I do not think there is a girl present who does not 
rejoice in the thought of your ascending our throne, 
in the thought of you wearing our crown and being 
our beloved Queen for the year just commencing.” 

“ Enthrone her, enthrone her ! ” cried several 
voices. “ Joyce Selby forever, Joyce Selby for- 
ever.” 

Queen, Queen, Queen, we adore you; 

Leave us not, we implore you! 


The white-robed girls came up again and tried to 
surround Joyce, but with a slightly imperious ges- 
ture, she motioned to them to wait for a little. 

“ You tell me something,” she continued, turning 
now and speaking directly to Muriel St. John; “ you 
tell me of an innocent society — its name surely im- 
plies that — but why should it be secret ? Why must 
this most charming fete be held at midnight? If 


A SURPRISE. 


57 


we are keeping our own rules are we not, cheres 
demoiselles, breaking other rules of the great school 
of La Chapelle? I want to understand about this. 
Why are the fetes held in private? Why are they 
held in the great attic at midnight, w T hen Madame 
la Comtesse de Tres and all the other teachers are 
sleeping soundly; when the girls who do not belong 
to the Societe de Joie are also in the land of dreams; 
when, above all things, my special friend, Hope Ash- 
ley, is conspicuous by her absence.” 

Joyce’s words were suddenly arrested. 

There came a distinct sound — something between 
a groan of disapproval and a smothered laugh — then 
the Comtesse de Mori took a long strip of paper out 
of Muriel’s hand and began to read its contents aloud 
in very refined and perfect English. 

“ You are quite right, Mile. Selby,” she began, 
“ in wishing to know full and absolute particulars 
with regard to the Societe de Joie . It is not wise for 
any young demoiselle to enter a secret Societe blind- 
fold. You have not asked to join us, but we — we 
have craved for your presence. We want a Queen 
— a Queen to reign over us, and we wish you to be 
that Queen.” 

“ But you know nothing about me,” interrupted 
Joyce at last. 

“ Ah, chere demoiselle,” exclaimed the French 
girl, “ we know sufficient — quite sufficient for our 
purpose. I have been Queen, Muriel has been 
Queen, Juliette de Tournay has been Queen. It is 


58 


A SURPRISE. 


now your turn, English girl, who yet surely must 
have the blood of Spain in your veins, so raven 
black is your hair, so dark and deep are your eyes. 
Our Societe would not be a Societe at all if it were 
not secret — profoundly secret. We trust to your 
honour, Mademoiselle Selby, whether you join us 
or whether you do not, to keep all that has passed 
to-night in your innermost heart of hearts. We 
want you, chere demoiselle , to seal your lips with 
regard to the Societe de Joie , and not even to whis- 
per of it to your friend, that fair domoiselle, Es- 
perance Ashley.” 

“ I will repeat nothing,” was J oyce’s quiet an- 
swer. 

“ Then that is good, very good,” replied the Com- 
tesse. “ N ow we will beg of you to go a step further 
and to become one of us — to join us, to help us, to 
strengthen us, to be in very truth our beloved Queen. 
Ah, you do not know, you cannot guess, what this 
will mean to the rest of us.” 

“ I have promised secrecy,” said Joyce, u and I 
will simply add that my word is my bond. But be- 
fore I take one further step in this matter, will you 
tell me, will you, Comtesse, tell me, what are the 
rules of the Societe de Joie? ” 

“ I can tell you the principal ones,” said the Com- 
tesse, “ but when you fully decide to join you will 
get a full list in cypher, which Juliette de Tournay, 
Muriel St. John, and I, myself, will interpret to you. 
In the meantime, ” 


A SURPRISE. 


59 


“ Ah, yes, in the meantime, ” said Joyce, the faint- 
est quiver of impatience in her tone. 

u I can enumerate the principal rules on my fin- 
gers,” said the Comtesse. “ First and foremost, 
secrecy — absolute and profound. Second, each 
member of the Societe de J oie subscribes forty 
francs per annum to the expenses of the Societe , but 
the Queen, chere Mademoiselle , is expected to do 
more. She must subscribe, if she is poor, out of her 
poverty; if she is rich, out of her abundance. That 
can be a matter, in your case, for further considera- 
tion.” 

u I thank you,” said Joyce. 

She lowered her black lashes and looked on the 
ground. 

“ The Queen makes all further rules,” pursued 
the Comtesse. “ She denies herself for the sake of 
others. She consults with the Committee with re- 
gard to the winter and the summer fetes. She is 
profoundly secretive and sends a cypher to each 
member of the Societe de Joie twenty-four hours be- 
fore the next fete. In her hands rest the midnight 
picnics in the adjacent woods, the fairy dances on 
the summer sward, the winter meetings in this great 
attic. Our custom is to have a fete once in three 
weeks, but that can be altered by any reigning 
Queen. At each fete plans are discussed, and differ- 
ent modes of enjoyment propounded. Above and 
beyond all things, we are, as members of our So- 
ciete , all in all to each other. In the hour of ex- 


60 


A' SURPRISE. 


tremity we each help the other. In the hour of 
trouble, whether financial or otherwise, we assist 
our sisters to the uttermost farthing. In the hour 
of pleasure we rejoice with those who do rejoice, but 
there is one rule very black and very dreadful. It 
is this: that if a member of the Societe de Joie lets 
out even the faintest clue to the existence of the said 
Societe to any other demoiselle, or to a teacher, or to 
our adored Comtesse de Tres, then that treacherous 
member is cut off from our midst so effectually and 
so thoroughly that her life in the great school of La 
Chapelle is made a burden too heavy to be borne. 
You, in Angleterre, would use the word i boycott 9 
with regard to this treacherous member. We act 
the word without speaking it. Hot one of us ad- 
dresses the person who has betrayed us. This is our 
strictest and most terrible rule, and only once since 
we came to the school has it been put in force. A 
young demoiselle was forced by our rules to resign. 
By our further rules we placed her in absolute and 
awful seclusion. There were thirty of us, and thirty 
could do a great deal. When she sat next to us at 
meals we never spoke to her. If she dared to ask 
us a question, we never replied. If she petitioned 
for the loan of a book, we pretended deafness ; if she 
looked at us with imploring eyes, we simulated blind- 
ness. Thirty demoiselles can do a great deal, and 
that faithless one left at the end of the term, although 
Madame La Comtesse de Tres never knew why she 
went. How, Mademoiselle Joyce, I mention these 


A SURPRISE. 


61 


things because I am well aware from your face and 
also from the words you have spoken, that you like 
openness. Will you or will you not be our Queen? ” 

Joyce Selby’s pretty face had grown very pale — 
the brightness was clouded in her glorious eyes, and 
the wild rose tint had faded from her cheeks. 

“ You have been all very, very good to me,” she 
said. “ I feel deeply the honour you want to bestow 
upon me, but ” 

“ Non , non , non , we will not have you reject our 
offer,” cried numbers of voices at the other end of 
the room. 

Queen, Queen, Queen, we adore you; 

Leave us not, we implore you. 

“ I would do anything — anything for you all,” 
said Joyce, looking down the room and replying to 
the eager impulsive voices ; “ but this entire matter 
has taken me completely by surprise. It is neither 
my way nor my wish to decide in a hurry. What 
has taken place in this room to-night is — is sacred. 
Mesdemoiselles, when will you have your next fete 
or gathering? I will be present at it and then tell 
you, but not till then, my decision. In the mean- 
time I should like to see the rules in cypher, and 
to be fully instructed therein — not by you, Com- 
tesse de Mori, nor by you, Muriel St. John, kind as 
you have both been to me; but by one of the other 
young demoiselles who is even a greater stranger to 
me. I allude to Mademoiselle J uliette de Tournay.” 


62 


A SURPRISE. 


Immediately on hearing these words J uliette, with 
a light, tripping movement, ran up the long room, 
fell on one knee before Joyce Selby, took one of the 
girPs beautiful little hands, raised it to her lips, and 
murmured : 

“ Ah, the delight, the joy, my Queen, my Queen! ” 


CHAPTER V. 


SUSPENSE. 

The Committee of the Societe de Joie chiefly con- 
sisted of the Comtesse Caterina de Mori, of Muriel 
St. John, and of that extremely bright little French 
girl, Mademoiselle Juliette de Tournay. There 
were, of course, one or two others, but these three 
simply led the Societe through its many and tortu- 
ous ways. They were all possessed to a somewhat 
marked degree of that inestimable quality called 
tact. Muriel glanced for a moment at her friend, 
the Comtesse; Juliette de Tournay rose from her 
knees, and, notwithstanding the discontented faces 
of the greater number of the other girls, who, to put 
the thing simply, had fallen wildly in love with Joyce 
Selby, Muriel and the Comtesse forbore to question 
the young girl any further. Joyce had delivered 
her ultimatum. For three weeks, therefore, nothing 
further could be done, that is, publicly. 

Muriel said, “ We accept in the name of the Com- 
mittee Joyce Selby’s decision. It is the wise, the 
true and the brave, who think long and earnestly 
before they undertake what certainly is a pleasure 
and what may undoubtedly be a duty. On this 
63 


64 


SUSPENSE. 


night three weeks from now, all the girls here pres- 
ent meet again in this old attic, and then Joyce will 
tell us what she has decided to do. If she joins us 
we shall receive her with rejoicing. If, on the other 
hand, she declines, we — we shall be, oh, bitterly dis- 
appointed. Nevertheless, it would be unfair, ungen- 
erous, to visit our very natural disappointment on 
Joyce. In case she does not join, we have heard 
from her own lips that she will keep 'bur secret. 
Attendez , Mesdemoiselles , Joyce Selby is not to be 
pressed, is not to be worried on this subject. She 
makes her own decision unaided by anyone else. 
Cheres demoiselles, understand, all of you, that those 
who interfere with Joyce at this critical moment of 
her career, injure the Societe de Joie and beyond 
doubt defeat that very object which they have in 
view. And now let vis forget our possible new mem- 
ber in the delights of the fete — in the story-telling 
which will follow after, and finally in the dance 
which will warm par young blood and enable us to 
go glowing and cosy to those downy nests which 
have been prepared for us by Madame la Comtesse 
de Tres. 

“ Come, J oyce,” continued Muriel, turning as she 
spoke to the girl, “ you are not yet a member of the 
Societe, although we trust much you will become one, 
but you are at this moment the honoured guest of 
myself and my school friends. Sit near me, Joyce 
— the Comtesse Caterina will be at your other side. 
Let us eat, drink and be merry, mesdemoiselles . 


SUSPENSE. 


65 


Citoyenne Pelven’s excellent confectionery cannot be 
lightly disregarded, nor her sirop of the strawberry 
and the pineapple allowed to go untasted from our 
festive board.” 

These words in Muriel’s clear, high, yet rather 
hard voice were the signal for the thirty-one girls — 
for Joyce made the thirty-first — to collect eagerly 
round the board to devour the sandwiches, the tart- 
lets, the cakes, and to mix the delicious sirop with 
icy-cold water from the great jugs which were placed 
at intervals down the long table. 

There were exclamations of pleasure. FTo girl, 
perhaps, in the whole world enjoys sweetmeats so 
thoroughly as does the French demoiselle. To her 
they are as the bread of life, and when Marguerite 
de Marni and Juliette de Tournay disappeared to- 
wards the farther end of the great attic, and after 
an interval of from five to seven minutes returned 
with great jugs of foaming chocolate — chocolate per- 
fectly made, hot and stimulating — 'the spirits of the 
Societe exceeded all bounds. 

Each girl allowed to appear from a mysterious 
pocket in the robe she was wearing a little French 
spoon and a small and truly French mug. Each of 
these mugs was now filled with chocolate, but Joyce, 
who had naturally not made these preparations, was 
given her share in a cup of silver which the Com- 
tesse Caterina had provided, and which was richly 
embossed. 

The feast did not come to an end until nearly all 


66 


SUSPENSE. 


the good things had been disposed of. Then followed 
a succession of stories told mostly in the French 
tongue. These stories were accompanied in many 
cases by the low sweet singing of the white-robed 
choir of twelve girls. At last the final act in the 
night’s festivities arrived, and this act caused Joyce 
to open her dark eyes to their fullest extent, for 
Muriel St. John took the little sack of potatoes and 
set them rolling one after the other on the floor. 
This performance was executed several times; then 
the potatoes were put carefully back into their sack. 

Joyce longed to ask what this meant, hut nobody 
seemed inclined to enlighten her, and in her pres- 
ent somewhat ambiguous position she felt that she 
had no right to ask questions. The next moment a 
girl, tall and graceful as herself, approached her 
side and begged for the grace of a waltz. The girl’s 
name was Alain de St. Aignan. 

She placed her arm lightly round Joyce’s slender 
waist, and a moment later every girl belonging to 
the Societe was dancing merrily and with that utter 
abandon and grace which characterises the maidens 
of Franco. 

At last the fete had come to an end. Muriel 
turned to the Comtesse to whisper a few words in 
her ear. These words were to the effect that, after 
conducting Joyce to the door opening into the Eng- 
lish girl’s dormitory, she would come back to pack 
up all that was left of the feast, to fold and put 
away her own beautiful damask tablecloth, her own 


SUSPENSE. 67 

roll of green baize, her own most effective crimson 
centrepiece. 

In short Muriel, with the aid of the other girls of 
the Committee, would reduce the old attic to its 
usual state of desolation. This was one of the in- 
variable rules of the Societe de Joie. Nothing was 
left until a future time. All was packed and put 
away in readiness for future use. 

Muriel now took Joyce’s cold little hand and ran 
down the rambling, broken stairs with her. Neither 
girl spoke a word, but as they approached the neigh- 
bourhood of the English girl’s dormitory, both Joyce 
and Muriel saw distinctly a small, dark, rather squat 
figure huddled together and crouching back as far 
as possible in one of the many recesses of the old 
house. 

“ There is some one there ; who is it ? ” whispered 
Joyce. 

“ A fleeting shadow,” said Muriel. “ Do not 
speak; hurry on.” 

They reached the door leading to the dormitory. 
Muriel with great care and skill unhasped it. 

“ Step softly,” she whispered. “ You cannot mis- 
take your own special cubicle. Get into bed. Dor - 
mez bien. I shall follow by and by.” 

She left Joyce, who in some wonder and bewilder- 
ment followed her instructions. Joyce did go very 
quietly up the long corridor. She heard once again 
the snores of Fraulein Schwann; the gentle breath- 
ing of her friend, Hope Ashley ; the happy sighs and 


68 


SUSPENSE. 


peaceful slumber which came from several pairs of 
lips. Soon she had reached the little room which 
was set apart for herself. She divested herself of 
the crimson silk robe which she had worn, and hung 
it once more behind its curtain. She took off her 
dainty shoes and stockings and crept into bed with- 
out making the least sound. 

Joyce was, however, very much excited, and for 
some time found it impossible to sleep. Had she 
really known what was going on outside the dormi- 
tory, the commotion in her heart would have been 
all the greater. For Muriel St. John, whatever 
faults she possessed — and doubtless those faults 
were legion — was also brave. 

She went softly, swiftly, silently towards the hud- 
dled up figure which still crouched in the recess. 
She laid a hand light as a feather on the arm of this 
girl. Her voice came low, distinct and very bitter. 

“ Spy/' she said, “ detestable spy! What are you 
doing here at this hour, Jeanne Gerusez ? ” 

J eanne tried hard to laugh, but failed. She would 
have given the world to scream or even to cry, but 
there was a tone in Muriel’s voice which seemed to 
run through her, turning her into stone. 

“ Ah, ah,” she said at last. “ Do not forsake me 
— do not be so bitterly angry! Let me join you and 
yours — yes, you and yours. I can be useful — oh, 
most useful. Why should Edmee Leroux be of your 
party and I — I left out ? ” 


SUSPENSE. 


69 


“ Has Edmee Leroux said anything to you, Jeanne 
Gerusez ? ” asked Muriel. 

“ Mais nop,, mais non, chere belle demoiselle, she 
would not what you say in the English tongue — 
peach! That is not the way of Edmee Leroux.” 

“ But,” said Muriel, still speaking in that in- 
tensely taunting tone, “ it seems to be your way, 
Jeanne Gerusez. How listen to me; now please at- 
tend. Why did you stand in that recess to-night? 
You must have been there for hours.” 

“ Four hours,” said Jeanne with a little sob. 
“ And I — I was cold, and when the — the rats came 
and scrambled across the floor, I was terrified.” 

“ I said you were a spy and not an honest girl,” 
said Muriel. “ How listen to me. Listen atten- 
tively. E)o you know the meaning of the word boy- 
cott?” 

“ Ah, non,” cried Jean. “ It is a word belonging 
to the cold, cold country of Angleterre ” 

“ You had better not speak against my native land, 
you silly demoiselle from Lyon,” exclaimed Muriel. 
“It is just possible that some of your teachers may 
applaud your conduct, which I doubt not is to inter- 
fere — to betray.” 

“ Ah, mais non, certainement non,” whispered the 
French girl. “ What do you take me for, chere 
demoiselle ? ” 

“ I take you for yourself, Jeanne Gerusez — a 
demoiselle of the people, one not fit to tie our shoe - 


70 


SUSPENSE. 


laces. There! I have spoken. Now you can do your 
worst.” 

“ But — but, dear mademoiselle, I will not breathe 
a word, no, not a syllable; I only wanted to know, 
I thought, if Edmee belonged, then I might belong.” 

“ Do not attempt to compare yourself with Ed- 
mee Leroux,” was Muriel’s reply. 

“ Dear mademoiselle, I will not whisper, no, not 
a word, not a syllable. I will leave things — things as 
they are. You have no cause to fear la pauvre J eanne 
Gerusez.” 

“Fear!” cried Muriel, a withering tone in her 
voice. “ Do you think we fear canaille f ” 

Jeanne felt the ugly red colour flushing into her 
face. That spirit which had led the French Revolu- 
tion animated her just now, but she was far too 
clever not to try to make apparent friends with the 
English girl. 

“ I repeat — not a word,” she said. “Not a 
word ! ” 

Muriel stood and considered for a moment. 
Jeanne ventured timidly to lay a hand on her arm, 
but Muriel flung the hand away as though it was 
a mosquito which might sting her. 

“ J eanne,” she said then, “ I have no time nor 
inclination to argue with you now. You meant mis- 
chief when you stood in that recess, and you will 
declare fully and absolutely what that mischief was 
when you meet Mile, la Comtesse de Mori, Mile. 
Juliette de Tournay, Mile. Marguerite de Marni 


SUSPENSE. 


71 


and myself to-morrow afternoon at a quarter to four 
of the clock in the old summerhouse. It is of course 
within the realms of possibility that you may even 
go to the length of trying to betray us to one of 
the teachers between now and the hour I have men- 
tioned, but consider, Jeanne Gerusez, consider ! Will 
your word be taken against ours? Have you any 
single person in this school to uphold you in your 
spying tale of gossip, in the ugliness of your ugly 
story ? What, after all, have you to say ? If we, 
some of us, broke the rules, why, did you, Jeanne, 
not keep them ? When you were supposed to 
he sleeping in your little bed in your special dormi- 
tory, you rose and stood in that cold recess for four 
long hours — why ? To watch us. Why ? Because 
you would act the spy on us. And suppose, 
Jeanne, you do tell the little you do know — and that 
little, believe me, means less than nothing — think 
of your share of the punishment! You will indeed 
and in very truth understand for yourself what the 
English word i boycott ’ means. Has anyone, by any 
chance, whispered to you, Jeanne, of the sad fate of 
a girl who went by the name of Pauline ? I will 
not tell you her surname, but she could whisper, 
were she present, of dark days and sad nights. 
Pauline is no longer present; the suffering was too 
great. She left. We knew why she left. Do you 
wish to follow her example ? I think I need say no 
more. Meet us in the summerhouse at the hour I 


72 


SUSPENSE. 


have mentioned — fifteen minutes to four of the clock 
to-morrow . Until then, adieu ! ” 

“ Adieu, adieu, I mean not to betray,” whispered 
Jeanne. 

“ Then go,” exclaimed Muriel ; “ what are you 
waiting for ? ” 

“ I thought — I thought — perhaps, that you would 
go first.” 

Muriel gave a low and very silvery laugh. 

“ I think not, Jeanne Gerusez. I think you will 
go first.” 

Jeanne immediately hunched her dark cloak more 
tightly round her little figure, fled down the stairs, 
and was lost to view. 

She reached her own special cubicle in her own 
special dormitory without making the least attempt 
at a sound. Muriel watched until she was quite 
out of sight, then returned to her companions. 

The great fete of the Societe de Joie had com- 
menced at midnight, but it was nearly five o’clock on 
the following morning when Muriel St. John, dead 
tired and utterly weary, crept into her little cell, 
flung off her pale blue tea gown, and crept into bed. 
She was so weary that in a moment or two she was 
sound asleep. Undoubtedly there were perplexities 
in connection with the Societe de Joie, and Muriel’s 
last waking thought was this: Was the game worth 
the candle ? 

On the following day the school assembled for its 
usual and manifold vocations. The special treat of 


SUSPENSE. 


73 


the previous day had now come to an end, and 
French was absolutely and entirely the only language 
allowed to be spoken. 

Jeanne Gerusez got up with a bad headache. She 
was subject to these, and they did not improve either 
her temper or her appearance. 

Edmee Leroux, full of good-nature and kindness, 
noticed the girl’s glowering, abject face, and took 
the very first opportunity to say to her in a low, 
caressing tone: 

“ Cherie, what ails thee, my little one ? Art thou 
suffering from mol de tete ? ” 

Jeanne found it convenient to say that she was. 
She liked Edmee better than any other girl in the 
school, but she did not dare to confide in her now, 
for Edmee belonged to that secret source of enjoy- 
ment which Jeanne would have given her right hand 
to possess. Edmee, too, although she was only the 
daughter of a wine-merchant at Tourelle, had her 
own ideas with regard to honour and straightfor- 
wardness, and could she have even guessed at 
Jeanne’s conduct she would have utterly despised 
her. 

But there was another girl in the school to whom 
Jeanne might hint things. Oh, of course, she would 
not tell , but to hint would be a relief to her over- 
burdened mind. This girl’s name was Frangoise 
Dupuis. 

Frangoise had not been very long in the school, 


74 


SUSPENSE. 


and in consequence was glad to make friends with 
any girl who chose to notice her. 

She was the daughter of a Parisian Avocat and 
was ladylike enough; she also had a keen desire for 
learning. In no way, however, did she belong to 
the ancienne noblesse , and Jeanne felt in her sore 
little heart — which was just then full of all envy 
and wanting in charity — that this fact would make 
Frangoise all the more valuable to her in her hour 
of need. 

Yes, she would consult with Frangoise ; she would 
make the daughter of the Parisian avocat her friend. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE FAILURE OF FRAN£OISE. 

Citoyehne Pelven was doing what would be 
called in England a roaring trade. In consequence 
the broad, red face of the citoyenne beamed alike 
on friends and foes. It was even whispered at 
Tourelle that the worthy citoyenne had no foes — 
that all alike must respect and like so good and hard- 
working a woman. 

She had of course her rival ; but bah ! what did a 
rival matter when she held the palm — when her 
gateaux , her chocolats were beyond doubt the best; 
far and away the best in the little town. All in vain 
did Citoyenne Lafarge, who lived at the opposite 
side of the narrow winding street, try to rival, to 
outdo the worthy woman — endeavour as she would, it 
was to Citoyenne Pelven that the surrounding gen- 
try went, leaving Citoyenne Lafarge’s sweetmeats 
for a lower and poorer class of customers. Ci- 
toyenne Lafarge hated Citoyenne Pelven, but Ci- 
toyenne Pelven would have done her neighbour and 
supposed rival a good turn if she could. 

Heither did Citoyenne Lafarge even once guess 
at the other woman’s secret source of prosperity — 
75 


76 THE FAILURE OF FRAN 9 OISE. 

she never noticed when Madame Pelven went day by 
day with her large, flat basket up a certain shady 
road; she did not observe when she placed her firm 
feet on the wires of a closely kept fence and en- 
tered a plantation of young trees, and then moved 
patiently and silently to the back of a great old sum- 
merhouse — there to await certain orders which were 
in fact the sum and substance of her wealth. On 
the particular morning which followed the great 
fete, Citoyenne did not fill her basket as full as 
usual; nor did she — as was her universal custom 
when the young demoiselles required the best she 
could give them — put into her basket the freshest 
and richest cakes. She slipped in a few stale cakes 
and tartlets on this occasion, for she was wise enough 
to know that her own special young ladies would 
not require her services much, if at all, this morn- 
ing. 

As she walked slowly over the grounds, keeping 
well out of sight of what she considered the prying 
eyes of the teachers, she suddenly met that small 
and insignificant girl known in the school as 
Jeanne Gerusez. 

Jeanne, on this occasion, was looking her worst 
and feeling her sulkiest. “ Ah ! bah ! ” thought the 
worthy citoyenne, “ does not la petite show only 
too plainly from where she has sprung — is she not 
in very truth a daughter of the people? And why 
not — why not ? Do not I myself also belong to 
the people ? Do not I belong to Liberty , Fraternity , 


THE FAILURE OF FRAN 9 OISE. 77 

Equality. And yet — Ah! mais oui! I must whisper 
it to my own heart, for I dare not breathe a word to 
mon frere or to mon Mari, that les anciennes no - 
blesses both of Angleterre and of La Belle France 
have a way about them. Ah! oui! a way. They are 
not greedy of the gold, but they require the best — 
yes, the very best. Nevertheless, when all is said 
and done, it is they who put the good argent into 
the pocket of this poor citoyenne. Ah! cest vrai — 
c’est vrai .” 

“ Have you cakes and chocolates in your basket, 
Citoyenne?” asked Jeanne at that moment, in a 
voice which was full of smothered anger. 

“ Oui, ma charmante demoiselle,” cried Madame 
Pelven, raising her sharp, dark eyes, and fixing 
them on the girl’s face. u This pauvre citoyenne 
has got fame, has got renown. Does she not live 
to produce delicacies the most melting — pastry that 
disappears in your mouth as you touch it, chocolates 
that cannot be beaten by anyone else in the whole 
of La Belle France ? ” 

“ And are you going to visit Madame la Com- 
tesse de Tres ? ” inquired J eanne, a sly look creeping 
over her face. 

“ Ah, mais non, ma pauvre. What does a lady 
like la Comtesse de Tres want with a poor woman 
like Citoyenne Pelven ? Has she not her own 
French chef? I hear tell that he makes things of — 
ah! oui ; of the heaviest; but it matters not to me. 
I sometimes walk through these spacious grounds, 


78 THE FAILURE OF FRAN 9 OISE. 

Mademoiselle, hoping that perhaps one like your- 
self may deign to look at the contents of my basket. 
Voild , chere demoiselle ; see for yourself of what it 
consists.” 

Jeanne, notwithstanding her headache, felt hun- 
gry, and the contents of the basket seemed to her 
very good and appetising. Her father, the silk 
manufacturer at Lyon, supplied her with abundant 
pocket money, but she was naturally somewhat close 
and stingy. This, however, was an occasion when 
to spend might be necessary. She might also make 
a friend of Citoyenne Pelven, little guessing, silly 
child, that she was talking to one of the cleverest, 
most secretive, and in her own way one of the most 
faithful women in the whole of France. 

“ I will buy one or two of your cakes,” said 
Jeanne, “ although I do not think it is right for you 
to come through these grounds, and I could of course 
report you to Madame la Comtesse.” 

“ Ah, mais non , cherie , thou hast too kind a face, 
a heart too steeped in feeling, to deprive poor Ci- 
toyenne Pelven of the few sous which she gets now 
and then, and that rarely, as she crosses these 
grounds. Thou wouldst not, chere demoiselle , injure 
a woman who has to put the bread of life into mon 
frere et mon mari. Would you not, chere demoi- 
selle, buy a cake or two, and some of these most melt- 
ing chocolates ? Are they not filled with cream, and 
do they not dissolve in the mouth and pass swiftly 
over the palate? They nourish, they sustain, they 


THE FAILURE OF FRAN 9 OISE. 79 

help to endure those fits of indigestion caused by the 
chef employed by Madame \a. Comtesse.” 

As Citoyenne Pelven spoke, she deftly drew her 
stalest cakes and oldest boxes of chocolates to the 
fore. 

J eanne, who hoped that by means of the cakes and 
chocolates she could secure the lasting friendship and 
confidence of Frangoise Dupuis, began to haggle with 
regard to terms, as was her wont, and an angry war 
of words ensued between the two. In the end Cit- 
oyenne Pelven had her way, extracted her price to 
the uttermost farthing, and at last supplied Jeanne 
with her worst cakes and chocolates at a sum which 
she would not dream of asking for her freshest and 
most treasured possessions from her own beloved 
ladies — the Comtesse de Mori and the rest of that 
dearly loved group. 

She did not on this occasion, however, venture to 
her usual haunt at the back of the summerhouse, 
but went rapidly in the direction of the plantation. 
This plantation divided the grounds which sur- 
rounded the old house of La Chapelle from the high 
road. The trees were still young and grew slowly 
as was their nature in that part of France. 

Just beyond the group of young trees was a strong 
iron fence which was supposed to effectually prevent 
any intruders from entering the grounds. But Le 
Marchande de Patisserie was agile, notwithstanding 
her great hulk, and had long before this discovered 
a means of making the iron fence but a stepping- 


80 THE FAILURE OF FRAN^OISE. 

stone to effect her escape from the grounds if neces- 
sary, and a stepping-stone to the grounds on the oc- 
casions when she wished to he present. 

How as she waited by the edge of the heavy plan- 
tation, she did not attempt to move, hut stood mo- 
tionless — waiting, watching, listening. 

The citoyenne had not long to remain in an atti- 
tude of suspense — soon, quick, light steps were 
heard approaching, and Juliette de Tournay drew 
near. Juliette looked even more French and more 
charming than usual on this occasion. Her big black 
eyes glowed and gleamed, her little mouth was 
wreathed in smiles; and when she saw the portly 
form of Citoyenne Pelven, she gave a low, sweet 
laugh which revealed her rows of pearly teeth. 

“ Ah! ma bonne cherie ” exclaimed the Marchande 
de Patisserie , “ it is good for the weary eyes to behold 
thy sweet face. And were the cakes and the choco- 
lates to thy taste, sweet cherie f 99 

“ They were excellent of the excellent, Citoyenne/’ 
cried J uliette. “ But see ! see ! ” she continued, 
speaking in her polished and yet most rapid French, 
“ I bring thee the little bottles which held the sirop 
— so good, so inspiring. Ah! but we had a fete of 
the most distinguee last night; and we owe it all to 
you, chere citoyenne — all, all, to you. Behold the 
little empty bottles — I will place them here in your 
basket ; surely this corner was meant for them. And 
chere Citoyenne, behold the good argent; I bring it 


THE FAILURE OF FRAN 9 OISE. 81 

also — where shall I lay it; so that the fruits of all 
thy toils shall not be wasted ? ” 

Citoyenne Pelven winked her black eyes and, mak- 
ing a sudden significant gesture, drew from her am- 
ple bust a little bag made of soft leather and held it 
open. 

Juliette was about to drop the carefully gathered 
hoard into this receptacle, but Citoyenne Pelven 
stayed her hand. 

“ For me,” she said, “ I love the cheres belles 
demoiselles , but I also love the argent — the argent 
so hard to win, so difficile to earn. Even before love 
comes business, for by business this poor citoyenne 
must live. By your leave, Mademoiselle, I will count 
the coins.” 

J uliette smiled but said nothing ; the rosy-cheeked 
citoyenne made a quick calculation; her lips moved 
rapidly as she counted francs and half francs. Pres- 
ently, with a look of complete satisfaction, she slipped 
the money into her little leather bag; returned it to 
its resting place ; and turned to depart ; but ere she 
did so, she turned suddenly and spoke a few words. 

“ Thou art to me, Mademoiselle, as the bread of 
life. I love thee, and I love thy young companions ; 
but I think it right for thy sake, for their sakes and 
mine, to utter a word of warning. Behold ! it is but 
a little word. Didst thou ever see a harmless piece of 
broken twig or stick lying across thy path? Ah! 
voila! but I have, and it looks like nothing at all. 
But behold! you come up to it unwarily and — and 


82 


THE FAILURE OF FRAN9OISE. 


most truly it lives ; it raises its forked head and looks 
at you out of its bright and glittering eyes. It is 
small, that little twig, but yet it is full of danger — 
in a moment it will spring — ah! spring. Its fangs 
will strike thee ; its poison will infect thee ; the little 
twig has turned into a vipere. 

“ Chere Mademoiselle de Toumay, beware of one 
such in your midst — so innocent looking and yet so 
full of danger. There! I have said my say. De- 
clare not afterwards that you have not been warned.” 

With these last words and with an agility amaz- 
ing in one of her years and bulk, Citoyenne Pelven 
turned and cleared the fence, looked back and nodded 
to the young demoiselle, and then began to walk up 
the long, dusty, straight road peculiar to all parts of 
France. 

Meanwhile Jeanne Gerusez held her cakes care- 
fully in a little basket which hung on her arm and, 
taking immediate care to cover them with trailing 
pieces of ivy and some late autumn flowers, re- 
turned to the house. The great bell had sounded 
for dejeuner, and the ninety-two girls, with their 
different teachers, quickly assembled in the great 
salle-d-manger set apart for the occasion. 

Madame la Comtesse de Tres did not often dine 
with her pupils. Miss Tabor on these occasions took 
the head of the table where the English girls sat. 
Mile. Armor took the head of the French table, Miss 
Davenport was at the foot of the English table, and 
Fraulein Schwann at the foot of the French table. 


THE FAILURE OF FRAN 9 OISE. 83 

Notwithstanding Citoyenne Pelven’s remarks to the 
contrary, the chef provided by Madame la Com- 
tesse was an excellent cook, and day after day the 
girls were regaled with nourishing and delicious 
soups followed by different dishes, all prepared in 
truly French style. If there was any preference in 
the school this was undoubtedly given to the English 
girls, for Madame la Comtesse was extremely proud 
of her English connection. But girls, hungry girls, 
are not over-particular, and all ate on the present 
occasion with heartiness and appetite, although the 
young Comtesse Caterina de Mori, Juliette de Tour- 
nay, Muriel St. John and Joyce Selby looked rather 
paler than their wont. 

Hope was glad to find that she had secured a place 
near Joyce, but Joyce was not yet sufficiently fluent 
in the French tongue to talk rapidly to her friend, 
and of course no other language was permitted. 

Dejeuner — the largest meal of the day — was gen- 
erally finished before one o’clock, but the young stu- 
dents did not return to their various classrooms until 
at least a quarter to three o’clock. 

The final instructions of the day came to an end 
at four, and at a quarter to five tea was prepared, 
according to the English fashion, for the English 
girls, while the other girls in the school partook of 
what they called gouter. This consisted of a piece 
of bread and a solid morsel of chocolate. 

After these so-called light meals, lessons for the 
next day were prepared; and at a quarter to eight 


84 THE FAILURE OF FRANgOISE. 

of the clock came le diner. This meal was at once 
both simple and excellent. 

At le diner those girls who were invited to visit 
Madame la Comtesse in her own private salle ap- 
peared, dressed for the occasion. Madame never 
asked the entire school to be present at once — she sent 
her notes of invitation by Mile. Susanne each morn- 
ing, and expected her replies not later than eleven 
of the clock on that same morning. On these occa- 
sions she ceased to be the great and dignified Head 
Mistress, but was the friend, the sympathiser, of each 
gir] present. 

The girls so honoured were expected always to 
appear in demi-toilette. 

This good, excellent woman took a deep interest 
in the nightly arrival of her young visitors, and did 
her very best to make them at home and happy. 

At half-past nine a great bell sounded through the 
vast house, and all the girls, both French and Eng- 
lish, passed in single file before Madame la Com- 
tesse; murmured the words, " Bonne nuit , Madame ” 
and entered their respective cells or cubicles. 

On the day which immediately followed that of 
the great fete, Jeanne Gerusez knew that her one 
sole chance of making a friend and confidante of 
Frangoise Dupuis was to secure that young lady all 
to herself immediately after dejeuner . 

The day happened to be mild and fine — one of 
those summer days in late autumn which come to 
delight the world before the miseries of winter de- 


THE FAILURE OF FRANgOISE. 85 

scend upon it. Each girl in this great school had, 
as a rule, both an English and a French friend. 
Those French girls who could not secure an English 
friend were permitted to make confidences with two 
girls of their own country. Jeanne certainly had no 
English girl as her friend. Jeanne was lonely, 
Jeanne was slightly frightened, Jeanne was de- 
pressed. 

Suddenly she saw coming alone up one of the 
long corridors which led from the house to an old 
rose garden the one demoiselle on whom she had set 
her heart. Frangois Dupuis, daughter of the Pa- 
risian avocat , had only very lately come to the school. 
She was even a greater stranger than was Jeanne. 

Frangoise was a slim, fair-haired girl, with blue 
eyes, rather small and set too closely together. She 
had insignificant features, very slightly marked 
brows but a determined, although also somewhat sul- 
len mouth. She was the sort of girl who possesses 
little or no enthusiasm, and little or no imagination. 
She was rather disgusted with “ mon pere ” as she 
called her worthy father, for sending her to La 
Chapelle. She would have preferred a school in the 
gay capital. She loved Paris better than anything 
else, or any person in the world. She loved it for 
its gaiety and brightness. Her father, the avocat, 
had secured a good dot for Frangoise. By and by, 
when she was quite grown up, he would also secure 
a husband for her. She herself would not be con- 
sulted ; she would have no say whatever in the mat- 


86 THE FAILURE OF FRAN9OISE. 

ter. As likely as not she would never see the man 
she would espouse before her marriage day, but aft- 
erwards she could go about and enjoy herself like all 
the other young French Mesdames. 

In France a demoiselle could do nothing, but a 
young madame had the world at her feet. 

Frangoise’s idea of the world was not lofty. She 
would frequent the theatre and the opera. She would 
spend lots of money on her clothes, she would richly 
endow herself with sweetmeats of all kinds and de- 
scriptions. For the rest, she threw up her expres- 
sive French hands — for the rest, nothing mattered. 

This school of La Chapelle was deadly dull, hut 
mon pere — she could not move mon pere. She must 
stay here for one, two, perhaps three years. After- 
wards the fun would begin. 

As Frangoise now emerged into the open air, she 
was met face to face by Jeanne Gerusez. Jeanne 
greeted Frangoise with an eagerness and affection 
which surprised her. 

“ I have been waiting for you, cherief * she ex- 
claimed ; “ I have been wanting you with a great 
hunger. There is a little bower — oh, not the great 
summerhouse” — Jeanne shuddered as she spoke of 
that — “ but a cosy, cosy bower, pour deux , close by. 
We have more than half an hour; we have indeed 
three-quarters of an hour. Come with me, cherie , 
to the bower, pour deux. You behold in me one in 
trouble. May I confide in you one little hit, chere 
demoiselle ? 


THE FAILURE OF FRANgOISE. 87 

“ Oh, and I have got chocolates and cakes. I 
bought them this morning from the most charming 
pdtissiere in the whole of Tourelle.” 

The eyes, the small blue eyes, so closely set, of 
Frangoise Dupuis, glistened with a sort of greedy 
pleasure. She was not the least interested in 
Jeanne, and Jeanne’s trouble was assuredly not her 
trouble, but the chocolates and the cakes, they were 
quite another matter. 

“ I will come with you if you wish it,” she said. 
“ I suppose you know, of course, that it is wrong — 
I mean it is against the rules — to buy cakes and 
chocolates from any citoyenne who lives at Tour- 
elle ? ” 

“ It matters not,” said J eanne, flinging out 
her hands, “ and rules, have they not been 
broken every day and all day long? Do not talk 
to me of rules, Frangoise. It is because of rules 
that I am in trouble. But eat, Frangoise, eat while 
I explain.” 

Frangoise was abundantly willing to fall in with 
this arrangement. She bad a perfect passion for 
sweetmeats. Jeanne, seeing her absorbed in devour- 
ing the chocolat d la creme and the little cakes which 
were a trifle stale, confided in her a certain portion of 
her own trouble— not by any means all, for that she 
would not dare to do, but sufficient to arouse the 
interest of the Parisian girl, who even forgot her 
chocolates as she listened to Jeanne’s story. 

“ So you really, really stood in that dark recess 


88 THE FAILURE OF FRAN£OISE. 

last night for four long hours,” said Frangoise; 
“ and you heard with your own ears the patter, pat- 
ter of the rats. Ah, pour moi, I hate the vermin. 
And then — then you were accused by a demoiselle 
whose name you will not mention, of being such a 
low thing as a spy. But I ask myself this, Jeanne, 
can one he a spy if there is nothing to spy about? 
You feel confident that there is a secret.” 

“ I am — quite confident.” 

“ Then it is your duty, your bounden duty, to 
tell Madame la Comtesse de Tres.” 

“ I would not dare,” said Jeanne. 

“ But I would dare,” remarked Frangoise. “ Thank 
the bon Dieu! he has made me without fear. If I 
were to enlighten Madame la Comtesse, she might, 
on her part, do some things for me in the school — 
I should be in her eyes a heroine. I think that it is 
worth the trial, and it is most truly the only thing 
to do.” 

“ Mais non, mais non ” exclaimed Jeanne in great 
distress. “ I told you in confidence, and remember 
it is my secret, not yours. Frangoise, you dare not 
betray me, and as to your being a heroine with your 
mistress after telling a tale that is scarcely likely — 
for Madame positively hates hearing tales out of 
school — you do not know, you cannot guess what 
such a proceeding on your part would mean — to us 
— to me — and — and to others. Your life and my 
life would be rendered intolerable. Oh, these demoi- 
selles have ways, have means. Their ways, their 


THE FAILURE OF FRANgOISE. 89 

means, are as terrible quite, as the Spanish Inquisi- 
tion.” 

“ I thought you wanted me to act ” said Frangoise, 
popping the last chocolate into her mouth. “ I am 
sure I don’t want to take up your scrape. You con- 
fided in me and when I made the only plausible 
and right suggestion you threw cold water on it. I 
do not think I want to hear any more. Thank you 
for the chocolates. They were good, but I have 
tasted better in Paris. I can of course act on my 
own initiative now that you have given me the clue. 
You will not be blamed. It is I that will, what you 
call, suffer the pains of the Spanish Inquisition. 
Bah ! do you think I fear your demoiselles from the 
country, and your dull, cold English mees’s ? Adieu, 
Jeanne, I go my own way — I follow my own course.” 

Frangoise without a word glided out of the little 
sanctuary where the two girls had taken refuge, and 
Jeanne, shivering from head to foot in real and very 
great alarm, pressed her plump, but ill-made hands 
to her aching eyes. Her head was worse, but what- 
ever happened, she must meet her severe young 
judges at a quarter to four that afternoon in the old 
summerhouse. Frangoise was no good whatsoever ; 
Frangoise was bent on mischief. She must tell these 
girls of the ancient French families, and these other 
girls of old England, what Frangoise might and 
would do to injure them. 


CHAPTEK YIL 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 

The summerhouse stood at some distance from the 
old School. It could not be seen from any of the 
windows of La Chapelle, and was in consequence 
much esteemed by the different members of the So- 
ciete de J oie. Here the Committee used to assemble 
for the purpose of discussing plans — of making up 
programmes for the furtherance of the said Societe. 
Other girls belonging to the school had of course per- 
fect right to assemble, if they wished, in this ancient 
retreat, but, as a matter of fact, the truth of the old 
saying that possession is nine-tenths of the law was 
proved abundantly with regard to the summerhouse. 
All girls in the school could go there if they pleased, 
but no girls did visit the old place except the mem- 
bers of the Societe. Ho one had even whispered to 
them not to go there, but as a matter of fact they 
did not go. To them there was nothing attractive in 
the place, which was cold in winter, and full of 
gnats and mosquitoes in the hot weather. 

In short, without making any effort, the Societe 
had the house to themselves. 

That summerhouse abundantly suited their re- 
90 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


91 


quirements. It was large and firmly built — no 
whisper from inside could penetrate to the outer 
world. There was a wide bench running all round 
inside the walls which could, if necessary, accommo- 
date quite thirty or even one or two more girls. 
There was a round rustic table in the centre of the 
large room; and there were several casement win- 
dows which could be shut in winter to keep out 
draughts, and in summer could stand wide open so 
as to allow the sweet, fresh air from the adjoining 
plantations to enter and cool the young occupants 
over their arduous tasks. 

A good many of the girls brought camp-stools with 
them, and seated on these they could sum up their 
accounts, drawing the said camp-stools close to the 
round table for the purpose. 

ISTo one saw them, no one noticed them; they en- 
joyed their seclusion — the secrecy of the place gave 
them pleasure, for what girl does not love a secret? 

On this special day — the day which followed the 
great fete in the long front attic — the members of 
the Committee met rather earlier than usual. There 
were present on this occasion : 

Juliette de Tournay, the young Comtesse Cater ina 
de Mori, Miss Muriel St. John, Edmee Leroux, and 
Marguerite de Mami. There were other members 
of the Committee who could not attend, but Muriel 
and the Comtesse were a host in themselves, and no 
one wished for anyone else when they were present. 

The five girls now looked around them with a 


92 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


certain expectancy. Why had Muriel St. John sent 
them a special message to be present without fail? 
As a rule, after a great and successful fete nothing 
was done, nothing was expected of the Committee of 
the Societe de Joie for a few days. They had just 
gone through a very striking success; surely they 
might now rest like rowers on their oars. 

This was the invariable rule ; why was it broken on 
this occasion? The possibility of Joyce Selby refus- 
ing to join their ranks had, it is true, entered the 
minds of one or two present, but they could scarcely 
believe that such a calamity would occur to them. 

They wanted Joyce for herself — for her young, 
bright, noble nature. They also wanted her, al- 
though this fact they scarcely whispered even to one 
another, for her reputed wealth. 

Now it was an undoubted fact that at this present 
moment Juliette de Tournay, Marguerite de Mami, 
and in fact none of the girls present, with the ex- 
ception of the Oomtesse and Muriel St. John, thought 
anything at all about Joyce’s wealth. They belonged 
themselves, each one, with the exception of Edmee 
Leroux and Muriel, to the ancienne noblesse of 
France. Of course Muriel was English, but Muriel’s 
people were also well-off and highly-born. Never- 
theless both Muriel and the Comtesse desired their 
future Queen to be rich. The decision had gone 
forth before the arrival of Joyce Selby on the scene; 
she was to be invited to join the Societe de Joie; she 
was to be made their Queen; and this decision had 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


93 


been arrived at simply and entirely because of her 
wealth. Would any girls invite a total stranger to 
accept so high a dignity without a cause ? The cause 
in the case of Joyce was money. 

Muriel laid down the law, and the rest of the 
Committee abided by it. Great was Muriel’s influ- 
ence over these young girls, and in all things was 
she supported by the Comtesse, who had given up 
Hope Ashley to become altogether Muriel’s devoted 
friend. 

Yes, it was necessary to have a Queen, and a rick 
Queen, for funds were low. Citoyenne Pelven’s 
gateaux and chocolats and sirops were not obtained 
for nothing. There were other and further expenses. 
The Societe de J oie could, in short, not be run with- 
out funds, and even forty francs a year from each 
member scarcely supported the ambitions of these 
eager young girls. In short, the Queen must be 
wealthy, and she must give of her wealth to so 
charming, so desirable an object. 

All these thoughts passed through the minds of 
the Committee before the arrival of Joyce Selby, but 
after her appearance in their midst, after beholding 
a certain gallantry in her young bearing, after seeing 
the flash of her dark, very dark eyes, and hearing 
the clear tones of her lovely English voice, the girls 
who composed the Societe de Joie felt that they 
wanted Joyce to be their Queen, whether she was a 
beggar or a royal princess in her own right. 


94 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


In short, Joyce Selby possessed that marvellous 
charm which is indescribable, and wins all hearts. 

“ Comtesse,” exclaimed J uliette de Tournay, “ we 
are all anxious to know why you and the beloved 
Muriel have invited us here on this raw, damp after- 
noon. Have you any bad news, Comtesse ? ” 

“ Surely/’ interrupted Edmee Leroux, “ that most 
beautiful young creature, Joyce Selby, has not in a 
moment of confidence told you, Comtesse, or you, 
Muriel, that she will not be our Queen, that she will 
not join the Societe de Joie ? Ah, but if such is the 
case, our hearts will break.” 

“ Talk not in such silly words, Edmee Leroux,” 
cried Marguerite de Marni. “ You exaggerate, 
pauvre petite. You are good and we love you, al- 
though you have sprung from the people, but re- 
member that the true French lady — ah! and I in- 
clude the English lady also” (here she bowed with 
extreme grace to Muriel) — “ will not, does not, 
could not wear her heart on her sleeve.” 

“ Allow me to speak,” cried Muriel. “ The Com- 
tesse and I have invited you here on a very special 
and very grave matter, but you may at least relieve 
your minds on one score. That matter has nothing 
whatever to do with our new member, and I trust our 
future Queen, Joyce Selby. I know, I assure you, 
the class of English girl from which Joyce Selby 
springs. She is true of the true, honourable of the 
most honourable ; and as she herself said last night, 
her word is her bond. She will give us her decision 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


95 


at our next fete — which fete is to be held at mid- 
night in the old attic on precisely the same terms and 
with the same eclat as accompanied our proceedings 
last night. We never had a fete quite like that held 
there last night, hut I prophesy, and my friend the 
Comtesse Caterina prophesies also, that the next fete 
will be even greater, for we shall then secure our 
young and gracious Queen. We will crown her with 
fresh bay leaves and place her on our ancient throne. 
Of all these things I feel assured. We want her, 
mesdemoiselles, for her beauty, her dignity and her 
wealth . We cannot, in short, proceed with our de- 
lightful fetes without such aid as she can, and will 
gladly give us. In the meantime clearly understand 
our solemn vow — not a word, not a syllable is to be 
breathed to Joyce Selby on the subject of the So- 
ciety de Joie . She has expressed a wish, however, 
to see our rules in cypher, and we will depute you, 
Juliette de Tournay, to read them carefully over to 
her. Read them once, twice, and even thrice, if she 
desires it, but be careful not to make one comment, 
Juliette. If she speaks and asks you questions, you 
are to refer her to the Committee, who will all be 
assembled in the great front attic in three weeks 
from last night. In the meantime preparations must 
be made for her enthronement. I suggest that she 
should wear over her lovely crimson tea gown our 
royal cape of ermine, which we keep so carefully 
for the enthroning of our Queens, and we will give 
immediate directions that the twelve maidens in white 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


shall surround her and sing a fresh song in her hon- 
our. But all these things, pray understand, are for 
the future. You will be given full directions, Juli- 
ette, when we think it wise for you to explain the 
cypher to Miss Selby. 

“ In the meantime, attendez-vous, demoiselles? 
The Comtesse and I have called you here with good 
reason — with, alas ! grave reason. You know, demoi- 
selles, how we have all loved our innocent Societe de 
Joie; how, during all these years, we have kept it 
a profound secret from outsiders, teachers and girls 
alike. It has been to us as the heart, the very inner- 
most heart of the school. It has added to our de- 
lights, it has sustained our flagging courage.” 

“ The Societe de Joie forever and forever! ” burst 
from the lips of Marguerite de Mami, Juliette de 
Tournay and Edmee Leroux. The young Comtesse 
and Muriel remained silent. Their faces were grave, 
perplexed, a little sad. 

“ Attendez ” cried Muriel again. “ This is what 
has occurred : Last night — or rather early this morn- 
ing — as I was conducting Joyce to the door of the 
English girls’ dormitory, we encountered a dark 
shadow huddled into a recess in the wall. Joyce 
naturally uttered an exclamation, but I hurried her 
by, trying to disabuse her mind of the least idea of 
being watched. Having seen her safely to her room, 
I went back to the crouching shadow and discovered 
that snake in the grass, Jeanne Gerusez. Demoi- 
selles, she had been standing there for four long 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


97 


hours. She said, forsooth, because she wished to 
join — to join something , she knew not what. Ed- 
mee Leroux, you are supposed to be a friend of hers ; 
do you know anything of this ? ” 

“ Nothing,” replied Edmee, turning first red and 
then pale. “ I am bound by my vows, demoiselles ; 
I reveal rien! ” 

“ I believe you, Edmee,” said the Comtesse. 
tc You are of different mettle from that — that ” 

Juliette here sprang to her feet. 

“ Now I understand,” she cried. u Citoyenne 
Pelven was in the grounds to-day, and I went to her 
as arranged — to take back the empty bottles which 
had contained the sir op, and to pay her for the extra 
good things which she had given to us. She looked 
excited, did the good Citoyenne, and spoke of a — a 
viper e in our midst. Now I comprehend what she 
means.” 

“ Ah, truly, and the word is worthy — absolutely 
worthy of the demoiselle to whom it is applied,” 
said Comtesse Caterina. “ But proceed, Muriel ; you 
have more to say.” 

“ Jeanne said she reared the rats,” continued 
Muriel, a slight sarcastic smile revealing her white 
teeth. " Pauvre enfant, our potatoes did us justice. 
Mais maintenant, mesdemoiselles, I had a slight talk 
with the young vipere, nest-ce pas ? My talk was to 
the point. I alluded to Pauline. None of us care to 
talk of Pauline except in moments of great, great ex- 
tremity. I think the young vipere from Lyon was 


98 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


much impressed, in fact, subdued, in fact, terrified. 
Demoiselles, I got her under my thumb and I kept 
her there, and by my express orders she is coming to 
the summerhouse to-day — now — this very moment, 
to explain to us her exact reason for standing four 
long hours in the dark, cold recess. Demoiselles, we 
must be kind to her, for although she is wicked, she 
is of the timid of the earth. We must therefore 
let her down lightly and explain to her, once for 
all and forever, that she does not join us, she never 
joins us, for she is — oh, unspeakably canaille l” 

Edmee moved restlessly. 

“ You forget that at one time she was my friend,” 
was her remark. “ Of late I have seen little of her, 
through no fault of mine. I have wished to be good 
to her, for she and I both sprang from the people. 
I, for one, am not ashamed of my ancestors, and I 
covet not at all wealth or greatness, but I greatly — 
oh, greatly covet love, nobility, the warm, the true 
heart.” 

“ You are all right, Edmee,” said Marguerite in a 
careless tone. “ We have only one request to make 
of you now — that when Jeanne Gerusez arrives, you 
maintain a steady and absolute silence, and allow the 
entire matter to be placed in the hands of Muriel 
St. John and Gomtesse Caterina.” 

“ C'est vrai , cest vrai,” echoed several girls, and 
just at that moment there came a timorous knock at 
the shut door of the summerhouse. 

Marguerite de Marni herself went to open it. 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


99 


“ Come in,” she said, and a scared-looking, 
hunched up, cross, glowering girl appeared on the 
threshold. She raised her dim, small dark eyes and 
looked from one face to the other; then she un- 
wound the black lace scarf which she had fastened 
round her head, let it fall to the ground, and faced 
without uttering a syllable her severe young judges. 

It was just at that instant that her eyes were met 
by the kind, sorrowful eyes of Edmee Leroux. Ed- 
mee tried to convey from her own face an expression 
which seemed to say, “ I am sorry for you, but can 
do nothing for you here.” 

The girls were all seated, but Muriel now rose, 
pushed aside the round table and began to speak. 

“ We are waiting to hear your explanation of your 
very extraordinary conduct of last night,” said 
Muriel. “ Will you tell us in as few words as pos- 
sible ? ” 

Jeanne gave a little gasp. About half a minute’s 
troubled silence followed, during which J eanne again 
looked at Edmee ; but Edmee on this occasion had her 
eyes fixed on the ground. Jeanne then gathered up 
her courage with a tremendous effort and began to 
speak. 

“ It began in this way,” she said. “ I know I’m 
— I’m not aimable ”• — she cast a timid glance at her 
young judges., who were all absolutely speechless. 
“ I also know,” she continued, “ that I am not born 
high up, but low down. I did not ask for the man- 
ner in which I was to be bom, and I do not see 


100 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


how I am to be blamed for it. Mon pere is one of 
the richest men in Lyon, and I never wanted for 
money. He wished me to go to a good school, one of 
the very best, and he heard of La Chapelle and I 
was sent here. At first I was very unhappy, for no 
one took any notice of me and I knew I was neither 
pretty nor charmanie, and my wealth was thought 
less than nothing in this great school of the high and 
the grand. Then, all of a sudden, I felt better, for 
Edmee Leroux was also of the people, and for a 
time she was my friend, but whereas she was pretty 
and bright and gay and charming, I was always sulky 
and discontented, and then — then, in some mysteri- 
ous way, I could not make out why, my one and only 
friend seemed to have less and less time to be with 
me, and I began to put my wits together and to — to 
suspect. We French girls are great at that sort of 
thing, although I am not in very truth what Muriel 
St. John called me last night — a spy! I meant no 
harm — no, not the slightest. I did not intend to 
breathe a word of what I suspected to the authori- 
ties. I could not but perceive, however, that certain 
demoiselles were happier than others, and had more 
fun than others, and I thought I should like to join 
those girls just as my friend, Edmee Leroux, had 
joined them. So last night I waited in the niche 
where the figure of the late Mother Superior used to 
be, and I — oh, but the hours were long, and I re- 
membered the story of the rats, and I — I heard them, 
multitudes and multitudes, and I was horribly 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


101 


frightened. Then there came down the stairs from 
the attic where the rats have their rendezvous 
Muriel St. John and the new girl whom everyone 
is making such a fuss about — Joyce Selby. And al- 
though I crouched into the very furthest corner of 
the recess where the figure of the Mother Superior 
used to stand, both girls saw me. I heard Muriel say 
to Joyce, 1 That is only a fleeting shadow/ and per- 
haps Joyce believed her and perhaps she did not. 
Anyhow, Muriel returned before I had time to get 
away, and she spoke to me — oh, most bitterly, most 
cruelly. She let out nothing of course, but she said I 
was to tell all. Well, demoiselles, I have told all. 
I earnestly desire to share your secret, and I will be 
a faithful member and — a rich member — oh! very 
rich. My father does not mind how much I spend, 
and although I am ugly and plain and common, I 
have at least got the good money, and I can pour it 
at your feet Will you permit that I join your se- 
cret — for I really know no more — Muriel St. John 
and Comtesse Caterina ? I will be as a slave to you 
each and all ; only let me join, for it is cold, so cold 
outside, and I want the warmth and the fun and the 
companionship. Edmee belongs to you, although 
she is but a daughter of the people ; why should not 
I also belong, and I am far, far richer than Ed- 
mee. I shall have a very great dot some day.” 

“ You are talking nonsense,” said Muriel. “ If 
you will faithfully, most faithfully promise during 
all the future days you stay in the school to keep your 


102 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


suspicions about us to yourself; if you do not ever 
again attempt to spy upon us ; why, we on our parts 
will do nothing further. We will not punish you as 
you deserve and as — as you can he punished. Were 
we to take the law into our own hands your life at 
La Chapelle would he unendurable, J eanne Gerusez.” 

“ But — but — may I join? ” cried Jeanne. 

“ What do you mean by ‘ join ’ ? ” cried the Com- 
tesse. She spoke in her haughtiest tone and drew 
herself up so that she looked every inch a Queen. 

“ Why — why, your secret,” said Jeanne, flounder- 
ing a good deal, and hunching up her square shoul- 
ders. “ Those things that make you confab and 
whisper; those things which make you leave your 
beds at night and cause the — the rats to come. Ah, 
bah ! I hate rats.” 

“ You cannot join what you have truly called 
nothing at all ” said the Comtesse. “ Be satisfied 
that you have behaved — well, disgracefully, and that 
we — well, on this first occasion, forgive you. Leave 
us alone in future and nothing will happen. Try 
to penetrate into our innocent conversations and our 
equally innocent friendships, and you will regret 
your conduct to the longest day of your life. That 
is, I think, all! ” 

“ Then I am not to join ? ” 

“ Mais, certainement non, there is nothing to join. 
Keep to your own set, whisper no word about us, and 
all will be well.” 

It was just at this moment that Edmee Leroux 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


103 


again raised her large dark eyes and fixed them on 
the face of her compatriot. She saw what she ex- 
pected to see — a sudden and absolute and complete 
change sweep over Jeanne’s ugly features. It is true 
that she no longer cringed, but her face, even to her 
lips, was deadly white with ungovernable passion. 
She choked for a minute or two, endeavouring to get 
out words which would not come. Then she said in 
a low emphatic voice : 

“ I wish to inform you, demoiselles, that I would 
have been your friend and would have helped you. 
But you are cruel; you are proud with that pride 
which caused the great Revolution many years ago. 
Through your means I have lost my one friend, Ed- 
mee Leroux, but if I have lost her I have gained an- 
other. Ah, oui, I repeat not her name, but where I 
am weak, she is strong; where I am fearful and tim- 
orous, she does not know the meaning of such words. 
I have this morning whispered to her a hint of such 
suspicions as I possess, and she — my friend — pro- 
poses to enlighten Madame la Comtesse de Tres, 
Mile. Armor, Mile. Constant, Eraulein Schwann, 
Mees Tabor, Mees Davenport, and the rest of the 
great staff of teachers. You will perhaps, cheres 
demoiselles , tell a different story about your so-called 
no secret, which yet is a very great secret, when you 
encounter the strict investigations of Madame la 
Comtesse de Tres and her staff. For me, I bid you 
adieu. You have treated me with great — great 
cruelty, but there is such a thing as revenge, and I, 


104 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


bah! I love revenge. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity ! 
They are fine words, and they suit me as well as you, 
demoiselles ! ” 

After saying these last words Jeanne Gerusez, 
still in a white heat of passion, left the summer- 
house. 

She scarcely knew what she did, or where she 
walked, and when suddenly a white hand was laid 
on her shoulder she shook it off as though she would 
remove a venomous insect. 

A light laugh sounded in her ears and the voice of 
Frangoise Dupuis sounded close to her cheek. 

“ Cherie, thou hast been a long time in that large 
summerhouse,” remarked Frangoise. “ For me — I 
watched you go — such a little timid cherie ! I waited 
and waited. At last you came out quickly — ah! 
quickly, and c’est vrai! the timid look had vanished 
for the look of triumph, oh! the most profound; of 
anger the most regal! What happened to you in 
that old summerhouse, little friend? Did you in- 
deed win a great victory? Believe me, I long to 
know all — yes, all.” 

“ Frangoise, you are kind,” said Jeanne. “ I will 
tell you this much now — this much and no more: 
I have indeed won no victory. Ah! non, non, far, 
very far, from that . But I must not speak even to 
you, kind Frangoise, while my passions run high and 
strong. I must not speak even to you, kind Fran- 
goise; I dare not; for attendez! my good, dear Papa, 
he says to me: 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


105 


u c Little Jeanne/ lie says, that clner bon pere; 
c little one of mine, whisper not a word to anyone of 
what troubles thee while thy blood is hot. If thou 
dost, thou dost get thyself and perhaps others into 
sore and bitter trouble. I have lived through trou- 
blous times and I know/ 

“ So, kind Frangoise, before I came here to this 
great school where I have been, oh! so miserable, I 
took a vow — standing by the knees of le bon pere — 
that I would keep silence always until my anger had 
cooled down. Ah ! oui, but it was a vow, and I must 
keep it. I will not have a broken vow upon my 
soul. To-morrow I will perhaps speak, but not now, 
for it is a vow. You understand ? ” 

“ I comprehend,” replied Frangoise Dupuis. 

She was silent for a full minute, then she said 
calmly : 

“ I would be your true friend ; I would also do 
the right. Where did you say, little sad one, that M. 
le bon pere lives ? ” 

“ I did not say anything,” replied J ean. “ What I 
had to tell you did not relate to my father.” 

“ Nevertheless,” continued Frangois, “ I presume 
that your good father has an abiding place. Why not 
whisper it to me now, little one of the sad heart ? ” 

Jeanne looked steadily into the crafty eyes of 
Frangoise Dupuis. 

Her words were undoubtedly kind, and after the 
bitter way in which Caterina de Mori and Muriel 
St. John had spoken to her, they fell like balm on 


106 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 


her wounded heart. Notwithstanding these pleasant 
words, however, Jeanne felt a strange and ever grow- 
ing sense of distrust rising up within her with re- 
gard to her new friend. She already regretted what 
she had said to the girls of the Committee. 

She hated most of these girls, but she had a real 
affection for Edmee Leroux. She knew that if 
Frangoise was true to her word, Edmee would get 
into very serious trouble, and that she, Jeanne her- 
self, could not possibly escape. She felt almost in- 
clined to bite out her own tongue at the thought of 
the words she had spoken about Frangoise to the 
Committee. In short, she knew herself to be sur- 
rounded by danger, and quickly made up her mind 
not to mention another word on the subject of her 
trouble to Frangoise; she also resolved to see Edmee 
privately and to put her on her guard. 

Having settled in her own mind how to act, she 
felt a degree happier. She assured Frangoise that 
she would speak to her to-morrow, but that to-night 
she could not even mention the residence of le bon 
pere; and trusting that she had got the best of it 
with her strange new friend, she went into the 
house. 

But the arrangement made by Jeanne Gerusez 
lacked one element of success. Jeanne was very 
weak and unstable in character, and Frangoise was 
equally strong. Frangoise could read Jeanne through 
and through like a book. 

She appeared to agree now with her new friend’s 


THE SUMMERHOUSE. 107 

plans while in reality she had firmly made up her 
own. 

Hitherto Frangoise had been a nobody in the 
school. How the chance was unexpectedly put into 
her hands of being not only somebody, but a very 
great somebody. She would tell ; she would break up 
a conspiracy; she would be hailed by every teacher 
in the school as a deliverer. The best and nicest 
of the girls would follow in the wake of the adoring 
teachers — yes, her place was assured to her. 

But in order to bring her firm resolve to its right- 
ful conclusion she must secure the help of the girl 
who had first put her on the scent. Jeanne Gerusez 
must confirm her tale, and Frangoise already per- 
ceived that, angry as she undoubtedly was when she 
left the summerhouse, she was already beginning to 
repent. Force must therefore be used on Jeanne, 
and who so likely to use that necessary force as le 
bon pere. Yes, Frangoise must invoke the aid of le 
bon pere. 

Jeanne would not in her present state of mind 
give her either his name or address, but Frangoise, 
who was as sharp as a needle, knew where the great 
book which held the names and addresses of the girls 
was kept. 

Mile. Suzanne had charge of it; Frangoise did not 
think she would have much difficulty in coming round 
Mile. Suzanne. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TIIE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 

Having absolutely made up her mind, Frangoise 
did not take long in taking certain steps to carry 
out her design. 

There was in her opinion no use whatsoever in 
waiting for to-morrow when to-day still lingered by 
her side. As this was her invariable rule in life, it 
was quite possible that Frangoise Dupuis might go 
far — whether in goodness or in the reverse, remained 
to be proved. 

At the present moment she considered herself 
virtuous, even though she was obliged to attain her 
heart’s desire by crooked paths. 

Mile. Susanne was quite the most popular teacher 
in the school. She was kind to rich and poor, to 
French girls and foreigners alike. She never com- 
plained, she never grumbled. Above all things, she 
made a firm rule never under any provocation to 
carry stories about les demoiselles to Madame la 
Comtesse de Tres, or, indeed, to any of the other 
teachers. Mile. Susanne was therefore a prime fa- 
vourite with the ninety-two girls at La Chapelle. 

Frangoise now thought of Mile. Susanne and re- 
108 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


109 


solved to take her into her confidence. She would 
do this only as far as her needs required — not one 
step farther would she go. She felt that her task 
was an easy one, for Mile. Susanne was the reverse 
of curious. As a matter of fact, she did not wish to 
know anything which did not relate to her own im- 
mediate duties in the school. Mile. Susanne felt that 
the less she knew, the better for herself and for the 
cheres jeunes demoiselles committed more or less to 
her care. 

It wanted an hour to diner — the ground floor of 
the great house was nearly empty. It is true a few 
girls still lingered in the great central salle d’etude, 
where lessons were prepared for the morrow, but 
Miss Tabor had charge of these, and the greater 
number of the young demoiselles had retired either 
to the vast salle on the first floor, or to wander 
through the old chapel. Jeanne Gerusez had disap- 
peared there some time ago ; and also all those mem- 
bers of the Committee who had so cruelly treated that 
rich young demoiselle from Lyon. 

This was the chance for Mile. Frangoise. 

She waited about for it, lingering on purpose in 
the vast room where lessons were prepared. Then 
suddenly shutting her hooks, putting them neatly 
into her leather hag, and going into the central salle, 
she hided her time. One or two girls passed her on 
their way upstairs, hut she was not a favourite nor 
in their eyes interesting. It did not matter to them 
what she did or how she did it — they forgot her as 


110 


THE VIPER VEESTJS COBRA. 


soon as they passed her. These girls slowly as- 
cended the broad, low stairs without giving Fran- 
goise a thought; even the timid Jeanne would have 
been more interesting to them just then than one like 
Frangoise Dupuis. 

On most occasions Frangoise would have felt wild 
at this lack of interest, but just now it suited her 
purpose to a nicety. 

By and by the little teacher she was waiting for 
appeared. She came out of the great classroom, 
stopped for a quarter of a minute when she saw 
Frangoise, but concluded that the girl must know 
her own business best, and therefore vanished into 
her own special and private sitting room. Mile. 
Susanne had a great deal to do, and the minutes 
allotted to her were therefore most precious. 

She was absorbed in the very heart and essence 
of her work when a tap sounded on one of the panels 
of her door. Mile. Susanne sprang at once to her 
feet and went to open it. Frangoise stood without — 
in spite of every effort to the contrary the face of 
the French girl looked a little pale; her lips trembled 
very slightly; and her small, pale blue eyes wore an 
expression which Madame la Comtesse would have 
called furtive, but to which Mile. Susanne gave a 
kinder name. The interest of Mile. Susanne was 
now thoroughly aroused; she held out her hand and 
drew the girl into the shelter of her cosy little room. 

“ Chere Demoiselle, thou art in trouble,” said 
Mile. Susanne in a tone which was almost affection- 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


Ill 


ate — she regretted now that she had not spoken to the 
girl when she saw her seated alone in the central 
salle . 

“ Yes, I am in trouble,” replied Frangoise, taking 
her clue at once from Mile. Susanne’s own words — 
“ not a big trouble hut a very little one. Still, it is a 
perplexity, and I do own that it worries me. I have 
to write, oh! immediately a letter — yes, a letter of 
great importance. Comprenez-vous that it is a let- 
ter of the most private? And to-night — yes, this 
very night — it must go; but I have lost the address. 
It has occurred to me, therefore, Chere Mademov- 
selle , that you can help me, and above all things will 
not tell about me to the Head Mistress or any other 
of the staff.” 

“ Certainly I will not reveal your little sorrow, 
Frangoise,” said Mile. Susanne, giving a quick 
glance at her neglected work ; “ but I am busy, dear 
child — my, work, my work, yes. it waits. In what 
manner can I help you ? ” 

“Oh! but yes, you are good,” said Frangoise, 
who had now quite recovered her usual calm. “ And 
I will not keep one so useful and so busy from her 
work. You, Mile. Susanne, keep the great hook 
which holds the names and addresses of every girl 
in the school. Permit me to turn the leaves for a 
minute or two, and most assuredly I shall find the 
address that has slipped my memory.” 

Mile. Susanne sat for half a minute considering, 
while Frangoise’s small and greedy eyes were fixed 


112 THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 

with an expression of most intense anxiety full on 
her face. Had Mile. Suzanne seen the look in those 
eyes, and even half read their intense anxiety, she 
might have hesitated; hut as it was she saw noth- 
ing, observed nothing; she was thinking of her own 
heavy work, and the request of Frangoise Dupuis 
seemed innocent enough. 

She rose, therefore, from her seat; took the heavy 
volume from its place in a locked drawer, and put 
it without uttering a word into the hands of her 
young pupil. Even then she failed to notice how the 
hands of Frangoise trembled as she stretched them 
out to receive the coveted volume. 

“ You will be quick, very quick, cherie ” she re- 
marked, and then she returned to her accustomed and 
interrupted work. 

There was no need to tell Frangoise to be quick, 
very quick. She knew exactly where to look. While 
the little teacher became at once absorbed in her 
usual work, Frangoise turned to those names which 
were entered under the letter G. Soon — Ah! very 
soon, she came across what she longed to obtain — the 
name and also the address of Jeanne Gerusez. Yes, 
le bon pere , that excellent and worthy man, resided 
in the Rue de la Place , numero 10, Lyon. His name 
was Monsieur Paul Gerusez, and in a paragraph 
neatly inserted below his name were the words: 
silk manufacturer of Lyon. Ah, yes, Jeanne was 
right when she said that le bon pere was rich, yes, 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


113 


very rich — richer, far richer than Frangoise’s own 
father, the well-known avocat of Paris. 

A flush of satisfaction mounted to Frangoise’s 
somewhat sallow face; she closed the book which 
contained the names and addresses; laid it on the 
table by Mile. Suzanne’s side, and said : 

“ I thank you, Mademoiselle ; I have discovered 
what I want. C’est bon, nest ce pas? And you 
will not repeat, kind Mademoiselle, to any of the 
other demoiselles, that I have looked in the address 
hook to obtain my knowledge ? ” 

“ I never repeat,” muttered Mile. Suzanne, bend- 
ing low over her work. 

Frangoise quietly and quickly left the room, but 
when the door had closed behind her, Mile. Suzanne 
raised her head, and a look of thought and even per- 
plexity visited her broad, white brow. Had she 
done right to show the address book? Had she — 
the most punctilious of little women — broken a rule ? 
Ah, mais non , it could not be so. Nevertheless, in 
future she resolved to avoid Frangoise, for she felt 
that in some strange way, she, who was known to 
like everybody, did not like this Parisian girl with 
the crafty face. Yes, that was the word — crafty. 

Mile. Suzanne, who was the soul of openness 
herself, could not bear anything of that sort. She 
locked up the address book and tried to forget the 
circumstance of Frangoise’s visit, but it would not 
pass from her mind, and her tranquil nature was, 
for the time at least, slightly unhappy. 


114 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


Meanwhile nothing special occurred that evening 
in the school, hut during the night that followed 
there was one young girl who lay awake. She ought 
to have slept quite soundly, hut sleep was far from, 
her wide-open eyes. The girl whose cubicle was at 
her right slept, breathing gently and softly; the girl 
at her left hand also slept; but Jeanne Gerusez lay 
wide, very wide awake, with her eyes looking into 
the darkness. What was she to do — what could she 
do ? 

There had been a time not so very long ago when 
she almost hated certain girls in the school. These 
girls, so gay, so bright, so merry, passed her by with- 
out notice or remark. She was as nothing to them, 
less than nothing. She felt her own inferiority ! she 
hated herself for what she knew she possessed. For 
the first time in all her existence she understood the 
true value of money. Money could not do every- 
thing. Le bon pere said it could, but le bon pere 
was wrong. Even money such as his could not give 
that intangible something which these other girls 
possessed as a birthright. It could not give beauty 
of face and dignity of carriage; it could not give 
that aristocratic pride which was so marked in la 
Comtesse de Mori — even in Juliette de Tournay; 
even in the two Italian girls, Gemma Ravella and 
Imelda Olivetta. 

Each and all of these young maidens carried them- 
selves like so many fair queens. Jeanne shrank from 
them and was afraid. Even the thirty English girls, , 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


115 


some of whom were plain enough in feature, and 
some of whom were awkward enough in carriage, 
possessed this distinction, subtle, undefinable, and 
yet most truly their heritage. They were, one and 
all, ladies by birth. Little Jeanne Gerusez was not 
a lady by birth, and not all the wealth of all the 
world could make her one. Why had le bon pere 
sent her to such a school; why had he deliberately 
opened her eyes to regard herself for what she was — 
a failure ? She lay flat on her back thinking, think- 
ing hard. Why was there so marked a difference be- 
tween herself and Edmee Leroux? Of course Ed- 
mee was pretty and aimable , but she — the daughter 
of a vine-grower at Tourelle — was no more a lady 
than was Jeanne Gerusez, daughter of the silk manu- 
facturer at Lyon. And yet everyone loved Edmee. 
She was in the thick of the fun of the school. 
Jeanne wanted to share this fun with her friend — at 
least with the girl who used to be her friend — but 
the others, although they admitted Edmee, would 
have nothing, nothing whatsoever, to do with her. 

Notwithstanding all these things, however, not- 
withstanding her tempest of passion in the summer- 
house, Jeanne still loved Edmee and would not in- 
jure her for the world, and yet had she not injured 
her ? 

She sat up in bed in the cold and darkness, and 
pressed her hands to her burning cheeks and tried to 
think out the position. Ah, le bon pere ; he was right 
— he was right. Jeanne had acted with rare fool- 


116 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


ishness, with contemptible passion. She had even 
given her secret away to Frangoise Dupuis, and the 
more she saw of Frangoise the more utterly and com- 
pletely did she distrust her. It seemed to Jeanne 
that she read Frangoise’s character in her face when 
she looked at her in the early gloaming of that day. 
She saw in those small and narrow eyes avarice, 
greed, undue excitement — a vanity all preponder- 
ating; a desire to raise herself at the expense of 
others, which would stop at nothing. 

Frangoise knew enough to make mischief, and 
mischief she would assuredly make. 

“ I am glad,” thought J eanne, as she lay down 
again on her little hard bed, “ I am <glad at least 
that I did not give the address of le bon pere. Fran- 
goise will get nothing more out of me but — but I 
must put those haughty girls on their guard. How 
shall I manage this — in whom can I confide? It 
seems to me that in this great school no one cares 
for me; I am lonely, desolate, but at least I will not 
injure Edmee who was kind to me at first and would 
be kind to me still if she had the time. Shall I tell 
Edmee the name of the one I fear ? Mais non , non, 
it would be unfair to Edmee. This must be the 
work of an outsider. In whom can I confide ? Some- 
one must be told, and that quickly, before Fran- 
goise works her mischief.” 

Jeanne’s quick thoughts travelled rapidly from 
one girl to another. Each and all she rejected as 
impossible. Joyce, the newcomer, was, it is true. 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


117 


most charmante , but she was absolutely fresh to the 
ways of the school and would be puzzled how to act. 
Would it not be best to impart her fear and her se- 
cret to one who as far as she could tell knew nothing 
whatsoever of the rats, of the stealthy footsteps, of 
what went on from time to time in the great old front 
attic ? 

Suddenly like a ray of sunshine there darted 
across her vision the memory of Hope Ashley, that 
young English maiden, who, if not greatly loved by 
all, was assuredly respected by all, who was very 
stately and very gracious, and who was known to be 
closely related to that belle from Angleterre , Joyce 
Selby. Yes, perhaps Hope could help her. Jeanne 
did not know Hope at all well, but Hope was never 
unkind to anyone, and whenever the two had hap- 
pened to meet, she had greeted the little French girl 
with one of her quick, radiant smiles — a smile so 
sudden and unexpected that it invariably delighted 
the heart of the girl on whom it was bestowed. 

Hope Ashley held her own in the school, and she 
held it just by reason of her dignity and patience 
and that peculiar beauty, which was more the beauty 
of the soul than of the feature. The clear light that 
shone out of those large, greeny-brown eyes, the erect 
and fearless young carriage, singled out Hope as a 
girl whom no one could possibly despise. She was 
also extremely clever and was in high favour with all 
her teachers, whether English, French or German. 

Hope had a natural gift for soothing, and Frau- 


118 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


lein Schwann was one of the first to discover this. 
She, poor lady, was at times racked with nervous 
headache. It was not the custom at the school to 
notice these so-called slight ailments, but Fraulein, 
turning from side to side of her hot pillow, felt that 
her sufferings were not slight — in fact, that her an- 
guish was very keen. There came a day when the 
poor German Fraulein was in a worse plight than 
usual. She was forced to retire from her duties, to 
creep upstairs to her hot cell and lie down, but ah, 
there was no rest for her in that sunlit room. She 
twisted and turned and moaned until suddenly a 
hand, cool and soft, was laid upon her brow and, 
lifting her burning eyes, she saw Hope standing by 
her bedside. 

“ Mein gutes Fraulein , thou canst not ease this 
suffering, believe me, mein Fraulein , I am best 
alone,” but Hope’s reply was to say in a gentle 
voice, “ I shall be back in a moment.” 

She was back in the prescribed time. She opened 
the casement windows wide, and having done so, she 
placed across them several folds of green nun’s veil- 
ing, which caused the sunlight to change its burn- 
ing hues to the softened light of a wood in the middle 
of summer. 

At this time the English girls’ dormitory was 
empty, and Hope managed to make a draught by 
pushing back a certain portion of the heavy curtain, 
which acted in place of a door. She then laid hand- 
kerchiefs wrung out of eau-de-cologne and water on 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


119 


the Fraulein’s brow, and moistened her feverish 
hands with the same delicious and cooling mixture. 
Finally, as the poor woman closed her sleepy eyes, 
Hope, sitting down near her and taking her hand, 
began to exercise on her behalf all the will-power she 
possessed — will-power which she firmly believed 
would aid the Fraulein’s recovery. She willed with 
all her might and soul that Fraulein should get bet- 
ter, that Fraulein should sleep; and it so happened 
that Fraulein did feel easier, and it further: hap- 
pened that she dozed off into delicious, painless slum- 
ber. 

Hope sat by her for a time, then she went to her 
own little room and prepared some delicious English 
tea to give to the poor woman when she awoke. 

Fraulein did awake after some hours’ sleep, free 
of pain and wondering what had happened to her. 
Hope made her drink the tea and munch a sweet 
biscuit, and from that instant Fraulein Schwann 
loved Hope as the apple of her eye. She never spoke 
about her deep affection, for that was not her fash- 
ion; but she adored the sweet, young and stately 
maiden, placing her in that corner of her heart 
which was most tender and most true. 

It was about this time that Muriel St. John be- 
came jealous of a certain popularity which Hope 
Ashley unquestionably held in the school. It is 
possible that this jealousy may have been aroused 
by some innocent words spoken about Hope by the 
grateful Fraulein, but be the cause what it might, 


120 


THE VIPEE VEESUS COBEA. 


Muriel St. John set her wits to work, and finding 
that Hope would have nothing to say to the Societe 
de Joie , though she faithfully promised not to speak 
of it to anyone, Muriel deliberately and calmly be- 
gan to deprive Hope Ashley of her best friends. 
There was, of course, the Comtesse Caterina de Mori. 
There was Mile. Alain de St. Aignan; there was 
even Edmee Leroux; there were, in short, most of 
the nicest girls in the school ; but Hope’s nature was 
so lofty, so simple, so grand, that she never for a 
moment blamed Muriel for her own decreasing 
popularity, only she did hope that when her own 
dearest friend and first cousin, Joyce Selby, ar- 
rived, Joyce would be allowed to continue their 
hitherto unbroken friendship without a flaw. 

Muriel was in one sense, however, far too clever 
for Hope. It was she who managed to arrange that 
Joyce’s little bedroom should be placed next her 
own, and far from the one occupied by Hope. She 
was also absolutely determined to get Joyce as a 
member of the Societe de Joie , and Joyce was bound 
by her bond not to reveal a single word of what had 
gone on in the front attic to her friend and com- 
panion, Hope Ashley. If Joyce had been left to 
herself she would have told Hope everything. She 
would have asked her advice and sought her coun- 
sel, but she was bound by that word which she proudly 
called her bond, and dared not let out anything. 

The morning of the second day broke after the 
great fete in the old attic. Jeanne Gerusez had made 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


121 


up her mind. She would avoid Frangoise if such 
were possible, and she would boldly seek the confi- 
dence of that girl whom everyone respected and 
loved, Hope Ashley. 

She slept a little towards morning and awakened 
with a comparatively light heart. Beside her little 
bed was a tiny writing-table with pens and ink. 
Jeanne jumped out of bed, wrote a few hasty words 
to Hope, and gave the note to Aimee, one of the nu- 
merous maids who waited on the girls. She was to 
take it immediately and secretly to Miss Hope Ash- 
ley and to wait for an answer. If she brought an 
answer back Jeanne would reward her with a whole 
franc. 

“ Voila” she cried, holding up the tempting 
morsel. 

Aimee ran off in high spirits. She was a French 
girl and loved a secret with zest. 

Hope received her letter without let or hindrance, 
and hastily wrote a brief reply. 

“ I will meet you during recess under the great 
oak tree not far from the lake,” were Hope’s few 
words; then, as an afterthought she added a post- 
script — “ I will gladly help you if I can.” 

Aimee tripped back to the dormitory where 
Jeanne slept, holding the tiny, three-cornered note 
in her hand. She was in high spirits and wondered 
how she would spend her franc. Ah, but cherry- 
coloured ribbons would be adorable, and they would 


122 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


please that good fellow, Jacques, who loved pretty, 
dark Aimee with the black eyes. 

As she was dashing down the corridor, however, 
in the direction of Jeanne’s little cubicle, she en- 
countered Frangoise Dupuis. Frangoise had cer- 
tainly dressed earlier than was her wont. She stood 
now directly in her path, and, seeing the note, be- 
came consumed with curiosity. 

“ Aimee, where goest thou ? ” she remarked, speak- 
ing in the French tongue. “ For whom is that most 
charming billet-doux ?” 

“ Not for you, mademoiselle,” said Aimee. “ Let 
me pass, please, for the matter is urgent.” 

“ Thou little, little viper, thou little snake in the 
grass; dost thou indeed think that billets-doux can 
pass undetected in this school. Give it to me and I 
will take it to Madame.” 

“Non, non , non ” screamed Aimee; “it is not, 
indeed, it is not of anything wrong. It is from a 
mademoiselle to a mademoiselle. Touch me not, 
Mile. Frangoise; I like you not at all.” 

Aimee made so loud a noise that Jeanne, who was 
listening intently, heard her. It was now or never 
with J eanne Gerusez ; her courage caught fire, her 
passion boiled. She flew out of her cubicle; rushed 
up to where Frangoise and Aimee were talking; 
snatched the little note with an air of triumph and 
vanished. 

“ Ah, bah, you shall pay for this,” said the angry 
Frangoise. 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


123 


She comforted herself, however, with the reflection 
that whatever the note contained and whomsoever the 
note was from, she had herself taken steps. For had 
she not the night before written to Monsieur Paul 
Gerusez, requesting him to lose no time in coming to 
La Chapelle if he would save his child, his only 
child, from destruction ? 

The letter was written hurriedly and much blotted, 
hut its meaning was plain enough, and the little 
page-hoy, Henri Sarci, had, with his own hands, 
taken it from her to add to the pile of letters which 
went each night from La Chapelle to the post-office 
at Tourelle. 

How it so happened that the small boy who was 
thus employed by the Comtesse de Tres was a nephew 
of that admirable woman, Citoyenne Pelven; and if 
there was a knowing small boy in the whole of 
Tourelle it was young Henri Sarci. He was a spe- 
cial favourite with his aunt, Citoyenne Pelven ; and 
as she greatly loved gossip and the news of the 
school, he invariably called in at her house on his 
way to the post-office in order that they might to- 
gether look over the letters which the demoiselles 
had written. 

Henri was rewarded for this act of treachery by 
stale sweetmeats and chocolates, both of which he 
thoroughly enjoyed. Citoyenne Pelven was as clever 
as woman could be, and she now looked eagerly 
through the batch of correspondence. The only one 
which specially arrested her attention was that which 


124 


THE VIPER VERSUS COBRA. 


was addressed in an untidy, indeed, slovenly hand, 
to Monsieur Paul Gerusez, Rue de la Place, Lyon. 

Why, was not that the name of the father of la 
■ petite vipere? Madame’s small black eyes fixed 
themselves on Henri’s face. 

“ This letter was given to me,” he said, “ by a 
strange demoiselle. She was flushed in the cheeks 
and red on the tip of the nose — so 1 And she looked 
— ah! ugly. They call her in the school Fran^oise 
Dupuis. She means mischief by that letter, does she 
not, little mother ? ” 

“ ‘Little son, thou art right,” replied his aunt, 
a and you and I, we will take the law into our own 
hands and commit the smudged and worthless letter 
to the flames. Hurry now, mon bon gar g on, to the 
post-office with the other letters, and remember, not 
one word of this.” 

“ Ah, non, ma foil ” cried the French boy with a 
look of delight. 

He gathered up the remaining letters and took his 
departure. 

“ Viperes are bad,” muttered Citoyenne Pelven to 
herself, “ but cobras — the cobra is even worse ! I 
commit the letter of the hungry cobra to the flames in 
my little stove.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


HOPE ASHLEY. 

It was one of those unspoken rules made by that 
most excellent mistress, Madame la Comtesse de 
Tres, that all her young pupils should form their 
own friendships — should make their own friends 
without any interference from the Head Mistress 
herself or from her staff. Thus, according to her 
belief, the girls could early learn individuality, could 
early find out for themselves who were good and 
worthy, and who were the reverse in the school. 
Thus Madame never allowed what is so common in 
many schools in her beloved country, i. e ., spying. 

No notice was taken of so-called school friendship, 
and all that the teachers — French, English and Ger- 
man — could do, or were indeed permitted to do, was 
to see that the friendships were not in any manner 
interfered with. 

Had this not been the invariable rule, more than 
one teacher and several of the young demoiselles 
would have loudly expressed astonishment when they 
saw Hope Ashley and that singularly unpleasant 
French girl, Jeanne Gerusez, pacing up and down, 
up and down before the eyes of the entire school, 
125 


126 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


during the three-quarters of an hour devoted to re- 
cess. 

Hope had chosen the place of rendezvous wisely. 

The shelter of the old oak tree close to the lake, 
or large pond, was the very corner where a girl 
might pour out her griefs even in the sight of all 
the world, without being interrupted or without any 
chance of being overheard. The place was at once 
private and open. All the little world of eager school- 
girls could see, but not one could hear what was go- 
ing on. 

Most of the other girls, it is true, had their otvn 
secrets to confide to their own friends; their own 
laments to pour into sympathetic ears; or their own 
joys to communicate. La Comtesse de Mori passed 
Hope Ashley and Jean Gerusez with a sneer on her 
lips; little Mile. Suzanne gave the pair an anxious 
glance; but the only person who was seriously per- 
turbed was Franqoise Dupuis. Frangoise fully ex- 
pected to be herself in Hope’s position at this criti- 
cal moment. Her anger rose high; she guessed at 
once from whom the letter had been sent to Jeanne 
Gerusez. Hitherto she had not troubled herself much 
about Hope, but now she recalled certain things 
about her — certain small matters which had reached 
her ears. 

Hope was an English girl, and of course it went 
without saying — rich ; but Hope had a curious knack 
of losing her friends. Ho one could guess why she 
lost them, but undoubtedly lose them she did. There 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


127 


was something about Hope Ashley — perhaps her 
stately young height, perhaps her quick and wonder- 
fully radiant smile, perhaps her undoubted talent — 
which made her even in the eyes of the daughter 
of the Parisian avocat a most desirable companion — 
the sort of girl whom it would he nice to be seen 
with — and yet beyond doubt, no one could tell why, 
Hope lost her friends. 

Even now there were whispers in the school that 
the new girl — that absolutely radiant personality, 
Joyce Selby — would soon go over to the enemies’ 
camp. 

What was this gallant-looking young Hope Ashley 
doing, that she stooped — yes, surely that was the 
word — stooped — to one so small and mean as Jeanne 
Gerusez ? 

By all that was honourable, Jeanne ought to be 
now pouring her confidences into Frangoise’s own 
ears. 

Well, at least the letter to le bon pere was on its 
way — Jeanne had done for herself when she refused 
to give the address of le bon pere to Frangoise Du- 
puis. She little guessed the resourcefulness of that 
young person. Yes, thank le Bon Dieu, the letter was 
on its way. Frangoise was most certainly no favour- 
ite with the school. It was true, however, that on the 
rare occasions that they met, Hope was, to say the 
least, polite to her. 

The daring idea now darted through the girl’s 
brain that she would interfere with Jeanne and make 


128 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


the group of two a group of three. Why not ? Why 
should not one who had been already confided in be 
present to secure further confidences ? No sooner 
did this thought flash through her brain than Fran- 
goise resolved to act on it. 

When she — Frangoise — appeared before the Head 
Mistress, accompanied as of course she must be, by 
the shrinking Jeanne, how truly magnificent it would 
be to have Hope Ashley also to bear her company. 

Madame la Comtesse might doubt Jeanne, might 
even doubt Frangoise, but no Head Mistress in her 
senses could doubt the word of one like Hope Ashley. 
This would be the beginning of a really delightful 
friendship between the two — Jeanne might be swept 
aside; Jeanne was less than nobody; but Hope and 
Frangoise! Ah! well, they would suit each other 
well — there would be no fear of this friendship com- 
ing to an end. Frangoise inwardly chuckled. She 
would delay no longer— there was no time like the 
present. 

Accordingly, Frangoise, in the broad light of the 
soft autumn day, crossed the lawn and approached 
the spot where the two girls were pacing slowly up 
and down. There were marks of tears on Jeanne’s 
sallow cheeks ; Hope looked very calm, very digni- 
fied, very sorry. 

“ Hush for a moment, Jeanne,” she said; “ a girl 
wishes to interrupt us. I do not quite know her 
name.” 

Jeanne raised her tear-laden eyes. 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


129 


“ Oli ! Oh ! Hope Ashley,” she gasped ; “ she is 
the girl — the girl who wants to make all the mischief. 
Oh! she will be so angry; oh! save me — save me, 
Hope ! ” 

“ Hush,” said Hope, “ leave the matter in my 
hands. You said her name was Frangoise — Fran- 
$oise what ? ” 

“Frangoise Dupuis. Oh! Oh! save me — save 
me, Hope, dear, dear Hope.” 

Hope turned her head aside with a strange min- 
gling of disgust and very sincere pity. 

Then she stood motionless, holding Jeanne’s little, 
cold, red hand in one of hers. 

Frangoise tripped up to the pair with what she 
considered the inimitable grace of the young Pa- 
risian. 

“ I thought I might join in this little matter,” 
she said, darting a venomous glance at Jeanne, but 
smiling at Hope. “ I thought it would be well for 
me to join. I pity you, Miss Ashley — or rather 
Hope, as I suppose I may call you — but of course 
you will agree with me that however disagreeable 
this thing must appear to honourable girls like your- 
self and me, nevertheless it is our bounden duty to 
support poor Jeanne when she makes her confession 
to Madame la Comtesse de Tres.” 

“ What confession has she to make ? ” asked Hope 
in a tone of intense haughtiness. 

“ What confession ? Why, surely she has told 
you.” 


130 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


“ We have been talking on matters of deep interest 
to us both,” said Hope. “ Your appearance on the 
scene has disturbed us a good deal. Will you be so 
very kind as to leave us for the present ? ” 

Frangoise’s face grew a vivid scarlet; her small, 
ugly eyes flashed what fire they were capable of. 

“ Very well,” she said, “ I go; but remember I go 
to tell.” 

“ To tell — to tell what? ” asked Hope Ashley. 

i Ah ! but that I will not say. You have received, 
me rudely and I depart as rudely; with as small a 
sense of compunction ; only, one last word : I under- 
stand now , Hope Ashley, yes, I clearly understand 
now why you do not keep your friends in this school, 
and also why you are forced in your despair to have 
recourse to one so small, so mean, so low as Jeanne 
Gerusez; to give her a place as your special com- 
panion at La Chapelle. Yes, I understand all now — 
you tried to carry the matter off with a high hand, 
but pour moi, I know the truth, and I will tell — 
yes, I will tell.” 

Frangoise was now in a towering passion, but 
Hope still looked calm and serene. 

“ I have been longer in the school than you have. 
Mile. Dupuis,” she said, speaking very gravely, very 
gently. “ I should therefore strongly advise you 
for your own sake not to disturb Madame la Com- 
tesse with idle tales which you cannot possibly 
prove.” 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


131 


As Hope finished these last words, she turned very 
sweetly towards Jeanne. 

“ Now, Jeanne,” she said, “ shall we continue our 
interrupted conversation ? ” 

Frangoise, feeling — she could not quite tell why — 
slightly stunned, walked very slowly away, and 
Jeanne wiped the quick falling tears from her eyes. 

“ How wonderful you are,” she said. “ You are 
not even afraid of her f” 

“ I am certainly not afraid of Mile. Dupuis,” said 
Hope. “ But now let us forget her, J eanne, and will 
you continue your story ? ” 

“ Oh, Fve been so miserable,” said Jeanne, feel- 
ing herself as she uttered the words lulled into peace 
and security by that gentle and yet commanding 
young presence, by the kindly light in the honest 
eyes. “ I have had, vous comprenez , Mademoiselle, 
but one friend in this great School. I loved my 
friend, oh, very dearly. Her name is Edmee Le- 
roux. She is, in fact, no longer my friend. I think 
she would be kind to me, but she has not the time, 
vous comprenez ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know all about that,” said Hope, 
smothering a very faint sigh. 

“ The mystery has taken her from me,” continued 
Jeanne Gerusez. “ I wanted not all her time, but I 
wanted some. I did not want all her confidence, 
but I wanted some, and there is a mystery. Talk 
not of it, chere mademoiselle, but it exists; and it 
has taken my Edmee from me. I would not have 


132 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


minded in the least had it been any other girl in this 
School ; hut being Edmee, my — my passions rose. I 
must tell you the simple truth about myself, chere 
Hope Ashley. Although I look stupid and dull and 
— and sullen, and of the sort who are called timorous, 
so much so that other demoiselles say of me that but- 
ter would not melt in my mouth — yet, chere 
mademoiselle , I have of the passions — oh, the most 
intense, the most furious. I can love with an undy- 
ing devotion, and I can also hate — yes, hate! And, 
mademoiselle, I hate one girl here called Muriel St. 
John; and I hate another called La Comtesse de 
Mori; and there are yet others again whom I hate, 
and my blood boils when I think of them and what 
they have done to me, and how cruelly they have 
spoken to me. Mademoisele Hope Ashley, I made 
up my mind to discover the mystery which had torn 
from my arms and, oh — oh — from my heart, the love 
of Edmee Leroux. I had determined to discover 
what the whispering in corners meant ; what the nods 
and smiles meant; above all things, why Citoyenne 
Pelven came so often to the School and hid behind 
the great summerhouse; and why — oh, why certain 
demoiselles at certain times crept softly in the dead 
of night from their beds and went like phantoms up 
and up and up, beyond even the English girls’ dormi- 
tory. I made up my mind to probe this mystery. 
So two nights ago, mademoiselle, I wrapped myself 
in a great black cloak which my mother, who is with 
God, bless her soul! used to wear. And I stood in 


HOPE ASnLEY. 


133 


the recess which, in the old days when this honse was 
a convent, held a life-size figure of the Mother Su- 
perior carved in marble. Her ashes lie now close 
to the altar in the old chapel, and the marble figure 
has been removed; for this is no longer a convent 
but a School. But, mademoiselle, the recess remains, 
and I crouched there and waited — waited- — waited. 
For four long hours did I wait, and about the mid- 
dle of the time I heard the rats. Ah, but they came 
in multitudes and rushed along the floor over my 
head! And I crouched into myself and prayed to 
Le Bon Dieu to preserve me. Then, after a very 
long time, there were steps heard descending the 
broken stairs which led to the old attics; and I saw 
Muriel St. John and that new maiden, Joyce Selby, 
descending arm in arm. Muriel held a dark lantern, 
and some of its light fell on me, although I crouched 
very far back in the recess. The new mademoiselle 
called out, ‘ Who is there ? ’ — the new mademoiselle 
with a face, a face of an angel. And I felt I 
could grovel at her feet and almost worship her with 
love. But Muriel’s thin high voice said : 

“ ‘ It is but a fleeting shadow.’ And she took the 
young demoiselle as far as the door of her dormitory 
and then she hurried back. I don’t know why I did 
not escape while she was gone, but I suppose I was 
partly numbed and paralysed. Anyhow, she dragged 
me out by the shoulder. Ah, chere mademoiselle , I 
was no fleeting shadow to her! And then she said 
to me, she said that I had acted as no honourable 


134 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


girl should act; and that I was a spy, mais.oui, a 
spy! Ah, hut she nearly broke my heart! She 
spoke so bitterly and she used such strong words 
and she would not listen to a word that I could 
speak. Finally she arranged that I was to meet her 
and some other demoiselles in the old summerhouse 
at a quarter to four yesterday. 

“ Then she let me go, and I crept hack to my bed, 
feeling bruised and beaten and had. Ah, chere 
mademoiselle , and I think a little mad also. I must 
have been mad to act as I did. Edmee was no use 
to me, and I must have some friend, so I suddenly 
thought of a girl who had not been long at the 
School. Her name was Frangoise Dupuis, and her 
father was an avocat in Paris. I knew that Fran- 
goise had as yet no friends in the School, and although 
she was a total stranger to me, I thought she might 
even take up with a poor despised little maid like my- 
self. So I bought cakes and chocolates from Ci- 
toyenne Pelven, and this time yesterday in the hour 
of recess, I waited about in the old-fashioned rose 
garden which the nuns used to cultivate so splen- 
didly, until Frangoise should appear. A sort of in- 
stinct seemed to tell me that she would walk down a 
certain corridor and come out into the rose garden, 
for I had often seen her there, bending over the flow- 
ers and smelling them. She is, chere mademoiselle, 
what we French demoiselles call ugly, being sallow 
of face, with very pale blue eyes set close together. 
And, mademoiselle, eyes so placed are always accom- 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


135 


panied by meanness of soul. But I did not think of 
these things as I waited for her. She came at last, 
as I knew she would, and I ran to her and told her 
that I was in trouble, and that I had chocolates and 
cakes to give her if she would listen to my sorrowful 
tale. She said she would listen, and I thought most 
surely that I was right, although I might have 
guessed by the expression of her face that she was not 
thinking at all of my trouble, but of the gateaux and 
chocolats. I took her to a litle arbour which just 
holds two, and while she devoured the cliocolats as 
fast i as ever she could, I told her part at least of my 
story. She became keenly excited and said that the 
only thing to do was for us both to go at once to 
Madame la Comtesse and tell her the truth. I said 
that was not possible, not to-day, at least ; and finally 
she agreed to wait for a little. Then, at the time ap- 
pointed, I went to the summerhouse. There were 
present Muriel St. John, La Comtesse Caterina de 
Mori, Juliette de Tournay, Marguerite de Marni, 
and my own special old friend, Edmee Leroux. Oh, 
but it broke my heart to look at Edmee! And Ed- 
mee gave me a glance so full of — of sorrow, and of 
— yes, love. Then I could bear it no longer, and I 
tried to speak and to explain. I tried to show that 
I meant no mischief, only I was lonely, very lonely, 
and wished to join those girls who were happy and 
gay and were not afriad of the rats. But all my de- 
sires were scoffed at most bitterly, and I was only as- 
sured that if I gave up 'prying and spying, the girls 


136 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


themselves would forgive me and let me alone; and 
I should not share the awful fate of one whom they 
called Pauline. Again, and yet again I begged to be 
allowed to join. I said I would be their slave and do 
their bidding, but, oh, Muriel and also the Com- 
tesse, they were cold as ice is cold, and they were 
cruel as fire is cruel. And after a time, chere made- 
moiselle, I forgot my fear and my timid nature, and 
wild rage entered into my heart, and I stormed at 
them all and said words which I cannot recollect. I 
rushed out of the summerhouse then, only the last 
thing I saw were the patient brown eyes of my dear 
and only friend, Edmee. A minute later, as I was 
rushing along blinded by tears, overpowered by pas- 
sion, I felt a hand laid on my arm — and there was 
Frangoise. She wanted to know all — not for love of 
me, oh, no, but because of her insatiable curiosity. 
Then I remembered words of le bon pere which he 
had ever impressed upon me. I was to bear it as a 
lesson through life never, never to give myself away 
until my passions cooled. Le bon pere was very anx- 
ious on that point, and the night before I came to 
La Chapelle he made me stand by his knee and take 
a vow on the subject. I mentioned the vow to Fran- 
goise, and — oh, but she was furious. I said I could 
say nothing more to her that day — not at least until 
this day had dawned — and she was obliged to make 
the best of things, although I saw by her eyes and 
the ugly expression on her face that she was bent oh 
mischief. 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


137 


“ It so happened, mademoiselle, that last night, 
although I was dead weary, I could not sleep. I 
was afraid of Frangoise and I hated myself for hav- 
ing given her any clue; and I firmly made up my 
mind to tell her nothing more at all — ah ! oui, made- 
moiselle, nothing more at all. But I knew that some 
girl must know, for Edmee and others must be pro- 
tected against the wicked machinations of Frangoise 
Dupuis. Then I thought of you, and the more I 
thought of you, the more I felt that perhaps you 
would help me; and that is all, Mademoiselle Hope, 
that is all, only that I am very miserable.” 

Hope did not speak for nearly a minute. Then 
she laid her hand gently on Jeanne’s shoulder. 

“ Have courage, J eanne,” she said, “ and do not 
fear what is scarcely likely to happen. I think I un- 
derstand a good deal more of this mystery than you 
have any idea of; and I will certainly secure you 
against any further blame. As to Mademoiselle Du- 
puis, leave her in my hands. But Jeanne Gerusez, 
you say you have no friend in the School. May I 
take the place of a friend until you secure a better ? ” 

The startled look of amazement in Jeanne’s eyes 
touched Hope to the innermost recesses of her kind 
heart. 

“ Ah — ah, but you are noble ! ” exclaimed little 
Jeanne, “ and I — I am happy at last. It was Le 
Bon Dieu who told me to go to you in my trouble.” 

“ I will see you out of it,” said Hope in her lofty 
young way, “ and will announce at dejeuner that 


138 


HOPE ASHLEY. 


you, Jeanne Gerusez, being, notwithstanding your 
bumble opinion of yourself, full of real worthiness, 
are in future to be considered my chosen French 
friend in the School.” 

“ Oh, but do you mean it ? Can you mean it ? ” 
cried Jeanne. 

“ When you know me better,” replied Hope very 
gently, “you will always understand that I mean 
what I say. Meanwhile leave Frangoise Dupuis in 
the hands of myself and — and another.” 

J eanne longed to ask who that other was, but there 
was an arresting sort of look on Hope’s noble face 
which instinctively told the young French demoiselle 
that so far might she go but no further. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 

Hope walked for a short time quite alone after 
Jeanne Gerusez had left her. She was thinking 
very deeply over the story which Jeanne had im- 
parted to her. Her thoughts were like her character 
— filled with determination, and also with that rare 
quality, which, for lack of a better word, is called 
“ common-sense.” 

The moments apportioned to recess had come to 
an end. The great hell sounded for dejeuner, and 
the girls from all parts of the vast building entered 
the salle a manger . Amongst others might be seen 
the anxious, yet humbly grateful face of little Jeanne 
Gerusez; the vindictive face of Frangoise *Dupuis ; 
and the ordinary everyday faces of the rest of the 
girls. The English girls took their usual position 
at the upper table in the salle a manger. The other 
girls took theirs at the far larger table, which ran 
down the entire length of the great room. The lan- 
guage spoken was of course French, and although 
Hope found herself near Joyce, and did all in her 
power to help her beloved friend and cousin to join 
139 


140 


THE GREEN- WALNUT BAG. 


in the conversation, she found her own thoughts 
somewhat far away. Joyce had, however, equally 
with Hope the power of reading faces. She per- 
ceived at a glance that something was worrying Hope 
and that therefore the best and kindest thing she 
could now do was to leave her dear cousin in peace. 
The rest of the English girls chattered volubly, and 
as to the many French demoiselles, their eager 
tongues made a humming noise somewhat like the 
sound of busy bees. 

At last the meal came to an end, but just before 
this happened Hope rose to her feet, turned her 
calm, compelling eyes in the direction of Madame 
la Comtesse de Tres, who, on this occasion, was at 
the head of the English table, and begged in pretty, 
fluent French to be allowed to say something before 
the school dispersed. 

Instantly all eyes — French, English, German and 
Italian — were fixed on her face. Madame la Com- 
tesse looked full at the stately, dignified girl, and 
said in her clear, modulated tones, which, though 
low in speech, yet carried far : 

“ Certainement , mon enfant ” 

Hope bowed in acknowledgment of this permis- 
sion and then began to speak. Her words were of 
course uttered in French and with a certain slow 
deliberation, which caused every girl present and 
every teacher to understand them. 

“ I have been for some time at this school,” she 
began, “ and I love it well. I love several of the 


THE GREEH WALNUT BAG. 


141 


demoiselles who live under this roof. I love almost 
all of the staff. As to Fraulein Schwann, she is my 
very dear friend.” 

“Koch, hoch!” cried Fraulein, unable to resist 
the enthusiasm which at these words filled her breast. 

“ Pardon , Fraulein cried the Comtesse, “ I must 
request your silence at the present moment.” 

Hope gave Fraulein one of her swift, sudden 
smiles. She then continued : u There are some 
whom I love, some whom I admire, some few again 
whom I both admire and love. Madame la Com- 
tesse de Tres has indeed during all these years been 
a support and a help to me, and I take this present 
opportunity of assuring her of my fealty. But I 
must now speak plainly. I have also suffered in this 
school. I have made no word of complaint, but nev- 
ertheless I have suffered. Those whom I loved and 
whom I had every reason to believe loved me grad- 
ually yet surely devoted themselves to other friends 
and other pursuits. This may be natural; this may 
be the lot of all schoolgirls. Nevertheless I feel it as 
acutely as though I were the only one who had un- 
dergone such an experience. Of course I name no 
names, and I am certain that Madame does not ex- 
pect me to.” 

She paused, lowering her eyes with their beautiful 
veil of thick lashes for a moment, then she raised 
them again, simply and yet proudly. 

“ I have one very dear and very close English 
friend,” she continued, “ who is also my first cousin 


142 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 


— my almost sister. I allude of course to Joyce 
Selby. It would pain me very intensely were Joyce 
to take her love from me and to bestow it on others, 
but, knowing J oyce as I know her, I do not think that 
likely. I will therefore pass on quickly to another 
point. It is as you know, chere Madame , the custom 
in this school for each girl to have — I mean each 
English girl — one English and one French, German 
or Italian friend. How to-day I have made a dis- 
covery. There is in the school, Madame la Com- 
tesse, a French girl with a warm heart, who is with- 
out a friend. I wish openly to declare that in future, 
if she will have it so, she is my friend — mine to help 
if I can, mine to love if she will let me, mine to be 
my companion, mine to be perhaps my solace. I al- 
lude to Mile. Jeanne Gerusez. Madame la Com- 
tesse, will you permit me to ask you to allow Jeanne 
Gerusez to come forward, so that I may proclaim her 
as my friend before you, Madame, and the staff of 
teachers, and all the assembled school ? ” 

There was a profound silence at the English table. 
There came a look of astonishment over Madame la 
Comtesse’s face, although she silently bent her proud 
head in acquiescence. Then there came a sound of 
confusion at the bottom of the salle d manger , and an 
awkwardly made girl — a girl truly of the people — 
half scrambled, half ran up the long room, caught 
hold of Hope’s outstretched hand, and stood by her 
side with a face white as death. 

Immediately afterwards the school dispersed and, 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 


143 


after the usual time for recreation, reassembled in 
their classrooms for afternoon lessons. 

Madame la Comtesse could scarcely contain her 
amazement at Hope’s choice of a friend, but she was 
the sort of woman who never gave herself away, 
and whom no one dared to question. At a quarter 
to four to the minute, Hope Ashley appeared in the 
salle, which was mostly devoted to English girls. 
There were present on this occasion Comtesse Ca- 
terina de Mori, Juliette de Tournay, Muriel St. 
John and Marguerite de Marni. Also seated in one 
corner, pretending to he absorbed with a hook, was 
Edmee Leroux. The very moment Hope appeared, 
Edmee sprang from her seat, ran to meet her, took 
her hand, kissed it with a sort of silent passion, said 
in a low voice in the French tongue: 

“ I thank thee, I thank thee,” and then vanished 
from the salle. 

Hope looked round her at the remaining girls. 
They, on their parts, returned her gaze with a cer- 
tain pride, haughtiness and displeasure which they 
endeavoured in vain to restrain. Hope looked every 
atom their equal. Indeed her expression at that mo- 
ment was beyond and above them all, for they were 
of the earth — earthly, and she was in very truth of 
the heaven — heavenly. She smiled the sweetest and 
gentlest smile as her wonderful speaking eyes rested 
for a moment on Muriel St. John and then passed on 
to Caterina de Mori. There was not a trace of anger 
or jealousy in her gaze. She thought it likely these 


144 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 


two might sneer at her, but she did not mind. Her 
nature was far above being troubled by that sort of 
thing just now. 

“ Girls,” she said, “ I just wish to say a few words 

to you all. I notice that all present belong to ” 

she paused a moment and then said very gently, very 
calmly, “ that Society which for reasons of conscience 
I personally did not think well to join. But Muriel 
and Caterina and Juliette and Alain — my conscience 
is not your conscience, and I have but to answer for 
myself in the great unknown future. I’ve come, 
however, to-day to tell you that what I learned with 
regard to your Societe de Joie has naturally and as 
a matter of course never passed my lips, and what 
your intentions are with regard to my friend Joyce 
I neither know nor wish to inquire. Joyce has 
strength and bravery and courage, and whatever she 
does she will do because she thinks it right, but now 
I wish to say to you that your Societe de Joie is in 
danger, and not in danger from the source which you 
suspect. There is no danger from that source, none 
whatever, but there is a girl in this school who would 
betray you if she could, who would make mischief if 
she could. She has said no word to me — in fact, I 
barely know her ; but I do know what I am talking 
about, and ‘ forewarned is forearmed.’ ” 

“ Do you — can you possibly allude to a new girl 
who has lately come to the school, and who was ob- 
served yesterday talking with great earnestness to 
your friend — your friend, Jeanne Gerusez?” ex- 


THE GREEN" WALNUT BAG. 


145 


claimed Muriel St. J ohn. “ Can that possibly be the 
girl? If so, I know her name. She is called Fran- 
goise Dupuis, and is the daughter of an avocat in 
Paris. Can that he the girl you mean ? ” 

For answer Hope very slightly bowed her stately 
young head. “ I leave you to deal with her, mademoi- 
selle, ” she said. “ You will doubtless best under- 
stand her nature, hut please remember that, unlike 
Jeanne Gerusez, she is not timid — she is not in any 
sense weak. It is a case of strength against strength, 
mesdemoiselles. I only thought it right to warn 
you,” whereupon Hope turned and also left the room. 

The girls she left behind, who had one by one 
risen during her brief and exciting speech, now sank 
hack into different easy chairs ; hut the expression on 
their various faces was the very reverse of easy. 
Muriel pushed her thick hair from her brow; the 
Comtesse de Mori patted her small French foot with 
extreme restlessness up and down on the floor ; Alain 
de St. Aignan gave a sort of snort which anything but 
improved her appearance; whilst as to Juliette de 
Tournay, her black eyes flashed and her small piquant 
features showed that for the time at least she was 
governed by passion. 

“ Arretez-vous, mesdemoiselles,” exclaimed Muriel 
suddenly. “ There is danger here.” 

“ You mean,” exclaimed Juliette, “ that — that the 
snake in the grass, Frangoise Dupuis, will really 
tell what she knows ? You think she will really go 


THE GREEN" WALNUT BAG. 


fl46 

to Madame la Comtesse and reveal our little innocent 
secret ? Oh, if she does, if she does ! ” 

“ Arretez-vous, Juliette/’ exclaimed Muriel again; 
“ pray allow me to speak ; pray understand that the 
Comtesse de Mori and I are at the head of this Com- 
mittee.” 

Juliette sank back into her seat, hut the frown, 
did not leave her brows, nor did her eyes cease to 
flash fire. 

“ What I fear,” said Muriel, “ is not what that in- 
significant Mademoiselle Dupuis does or does not do 
in the School. My real fear is wider and deeper; I 
can, I think, say something to Fran§oise which will 
effectually seal her lips, and if she is strong and 
clever, as Hope Ashley declares, she may he even of 
use to us. For remember, mesdemoiselles, that 
hitherto — I mean up to the present moment — our 
Society has been marked by amiability, gentleness, 
kindness. There has not been one member amongst 
us who has not been more or less influenced by lofty 
notions. Now suppose we effectually seal the lips of 
Frangoise Dupuis.” 

“ How, how ? What do you mean ? ” exclaimed 
Alain. 

Muriel gave a slight, disdainful smile. 

“ By asking her to join us,” she said. “ By ask- 
ing her, in short, to be a spy, not against us, but for 
us. Think you not that is a valuable thought, mes- 
demoiselles ? Think you not it is worthy even of the 
brain of Muriel St. John ? ” 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 


147 


“ We cannot possibly entertain the idea in a 
hurry,” said the Comtesse, fingering the gold chate- 
laine which hung at her waist as she spoke, and which 
contained thimble, scissors, needles and all those dif- 
ferent articles of immediate use which are so beloved 
by French demoiselles. 

“ We will postpone saying anything to her till to- 
morrow,” said Muriel ; “ hut meanwhile I myself 
will sound her. I will he extremely careful to let 
out nothing, hut I will get this daughter of the Pa- 
risian avocat clearly to understand that if she goes 
alone and unsupported with her story to Madame la 
Comtesse de Tres, Madame will naturally ask for 
witnesses, for at least someone else to confirm her 
extraordinary tale. She will have no one, for 
Jeanne has indeed gone over to the enemy; and with- 
out Jeanne she is in a sore plight, and the wisest 
thing she can do is to keep her knowledge to herself. 
This, if she is strong and courageous, as Hope Ash- 
ley declares she is, she will of course quickly under- 
stand. In that case we have nothing whatsoever to 
fear from Mademoiselle Frangoise Dupuis.” 

“ Then what have we to fear ? ” cried J uliette. 
u Why do you frighten us with your words, Muriel ? 
and then come down — come down to nothing at all.” 

“ But I have not come down to nothing at all,” 
cried Muriel. “ I only wish to dispose of Frangoise 
— Frangoise so insignificant, so unimportant, so de- 
void of looks and of — of grace ! I have only further 
thrown out the suggestion that such a girl in our 


148 


THE GREEH WALNUT BAG. 


midst, bound to us by irrevocable vows, may be far 
more useful than we can at present understand. But, 
mesdemoiselles, let that affair slide for the present. 
Let it for the time being pass into oblivion. It re- 
quires thought, much thought. It may not be ad- 
visable. On the other hand it may be far and away 
the best thing to do. But now to come to the real 
business of our little meeting. You know cheres 
demoiselles, of the famous Societe de J oie that at the 
present moment we are short of funds. We have a 
great programme to carry through; brilliant is no 
word for it. We want to make an impression on the 
members of the Societe which has never yet been 
made, and we are — we are at this moment — ah, that 
I should have to say the word ! — penniless.” 

As Muriel spoke she took a little velvet bag which 
she sometimes wore at her side. It was a little green 
velvet bag, very pretty, and much embroidered; it 
had the initials S. de J. embroidered on it also, in 
rich gold thread. This little bag was, in short, the 
bank of the Society, and it was empty. 

“ We have all paid in our subscriptions,” said 
Muriel, “ forty francs from each girl. That sounds 
a good deal of money, mes bonnes demoiselles. But 
it does not suffice ; it is not all in all sufficient. Who 
is to pay for the meeting by which we enthrone our 
gracious Queen, Joyce Selby ? Who is to pay for the 
gateaux , the chocolats, the sirops , the hundred and 
one necessary things which belong to so great — so 
very great an event ? Behold, the little bag is empty ! 


THE GREEN" WALNUT BAG. 


149 


I gave the very last of its contents this morning to 
you, Juliette de Tournay, wherewith to settle with 
Citoyenne Pelven. There is nothing left — nothing 
at all. If we can secure Joyce, who is very rich, as 
our Queen, behold, the little bank will be full once 
more. If we can secure Frangoise Dupuis as a mem- 
ber, she doubtless will pay largely for the privilege. 
I am told that the avocat in Paris is wealthy of the 
wealthy. I ask therefore that some of his funds 
should he turned in our direction, so that the little 
bag may he filled once again. Meanwhile I must 
levy a toll on each member of the Committee here 
assembled ; for there is much to do in the preparing 
for the reception of our new Queen, and she must 
not on any account feel the sting of our poverty until 
she is one of us and cannot withdraw. Mes enfants , 
how much will you each subscribe towards the filling 
of the little green velvet bag ? ” 

There was a hurried mutter of words passing from 
one girl to the other, then Alain de St. Aignan rose 
slowly and laid a napoleon on the table. Juliette de 
Tournay followed her example, and the Italian girls, 
Gemma Kavella and Imelda Olivetta each did like- 
wise ; but neither the Comtesse de Mori nor Muriel 
St. John subscribed anything. 

“ This is far better than nothing,” said Muriel, 
gathering up the coins eagerly and slipping them 
into the bag. 

“ But your share, Muriel? ” cried Juliette. 

“ And yours, Comtesse,” exclaimed Alain. 


150 


THE GBEEN WALNUT BAG. 


“ We will also add to the fund, and more largely/’' 
cried Muriel without a moment’s hesitation. “ But 
now, mesdemoiselles, do you not want to hear, to 
really hear what my great, my very great fear is ? ” 

The girls who had been looking a little discon- 
tented both at Muriel and Caterina, for not doubling 
the supply of money which they themselves could ill 
spare, now forgot the subject of money in their in- 
tense interest. 

“ Ah, oui f tell us, tell us,” cried Juliette. 

A very slight smile crossed the lips of Muriel St- 
John. 

“ You know of course,” she said, “ that Hope Ash- 
ley is aware of our secrets ; that we gave her a hearty 
welcome into our midst, and implored of her to join 
our Societe de Joie. Mesdemoiselles, she refused; 
she refused absolutely, completely, thoroughly. Nat- 
urally we were angry, naturally we were hurt. She 
said something about her conscience. Ah, hah! Is 
her conscience more precious than ours ? But let 
that he — Hope would have none of us ; therefore we 
gave her up. She was dear to me, she was dear to 
the Comtesse Caterina, she was dear to many in this- 
School ; hut — hut — we gave her up because she would 
not belong. Hope faithfully promised never under 
any circumstances whatever to reveal our secret. It 
was not for her, she said, hut it would not pass her 
lips. We believed her. Mesdemoiselles, we believed. 
Hope Ashley.” 

“ And we believe her still,” said Juliette de Tour- 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 


151 


nay. “ Who would not believe one so noble and so 
great? It is but to look into her eyes to know, to 
be sure. Ah, fie, for shame, Muriel St. John! to 
try to slander your friend.” 

“ I think Juliette is right,” said Alain. 

“ And I think she is right,” said Gemma. 

“ And I know she is right,” said Imelda. “ It 
would be impossible for Hope to tell a lie; it would 
not fit her character,” continued Imelda, “ it would 
not get out.” 

“ And who has accused her, pray, of telling lies ? ” 
enquired Muriel, who saw that she had gone just a 
step too far. “ Still, I must make the remark. Hope 
does not belong to us, but attendez, mesdemoiselles. 
This Hope whom you think so highly of, is closely, 
Ter y closely connected with our future Queen, with 
our — with our desire for the great programme which 
we can only carry out if J oyce Selby becomes one of 
us. How, mesdemoiselles, the fear which oppresses 
my breast is this : Hope, without letting out a single 
word, may influence Joyce against us. Joyce, in 
short, may refuse to join. This is only a fear — it 
may never be j ustified ; but there is one thing to be 
said, one thing to be said at once. If Joyce Selby 
does not join La Societe de Joie, that noble So- 
ciete is lost. There! I have spoken. Mesdemoi- 
selles, we must hold our heads high ; we must appear 
to fear nothing while we fear all. Hope has a strange 
and very marvellous power about her. Did you not 
hear even old Fraulein cry out in ecstasy when Hope 


152 


THE GREEN - WALNUT BAG. 


after dejeuner to-day spoke what she thought! Do 
not on any consideration whatsoever misconstrue my 
words. I respect Hope; there was a time when I 
loved her.” 

“ I love her still,” said Juliette. 

“ And I,” said Alain. 

“ And I — oh, and I,” suddenly burst from the lips 
of Caterina. 

Muriel looked at her own special friend with si- 
lent astonishment and dismay. 

“ Yes, it is true,” said Caterina. “ I gave her up 
to he on your side, Muriel, hut you are not noble, 
and she is.” 

“ Noble ? What do you mean? ” cried Muriel. 

“ I mean,” said Caterina, “ noble in soul. That 
is the only true nobility.” 

Muriel could not help a sneer coming across her 
lips. 

“ Then you think it was noble of one like Hope 
Ashley, closely related to Joyce Selby, to take up 
the daughter of a common silk-manufacturer at Lyon 
— to make her publicly her friend in the face of all 
the School? In short, to put one so intolerable, so 
common, as Jeanne Gerusez, out of her place — 
Jeanne Gerusez, who is nothing but a spy, a spy. 
Ah, pour moi , I esteem not that sort of nobility.” 

“ Do you not?” said Juliette. “Well, I do; I 
esteem it extremely.” 

“ And so do I,” said Alain. 

“ And so do I,” said Caterina. “ The deed re- 


THE GREEN WALNUT BAG. 


153 


quired courage which only Hope possesses. Hope 
cannot really care for Jeanne Gerusez; she makes 
her her friend in order to comfort her.” 

“ She will he a dangerous friend,” remarked 
Muriel. “ For consider, mesdemoiselles, this friend 
is a spy ” 

With these words Muriel took up the little green 
velvet bag, thrust it carefully out of sight in one of 
her pockets, and left the salle . 


CHAPTER XI. 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

If ever there was a girl who was simply wild with 
-unger, that girl was Frangoise Dupuis. Her only 
hope and comfort lay in the fact that the letter to 
Paul Gerusez was posted; must in all probability 
have reached him by now; and that he, this sturdy 
manufacturer who yet had so sound a sense of right 
and judgment, would appear on the scene either to- 
morrow or the next day. Then Frangoise’s turn 
would come. She would explain the whole story to 
Monsieur Paul Gerusez. Jeanne, notwithstanding 
her grand new friend, could not help flinging herself 
into the arms of her beloved father; could not help 
corroborating Frangoise’s words; and, accompanied 
hy Monsieur Paul Gerusez and Frangoise herself, 
could not fail to get admission to Madame la Com- 
tesse de Tres. Thus the secret, whatever the secret 
was, would be wrecked, demolished, smashed to pow- 
der. Frangoise would be rewarded as she deserved, 
and something which was undoubtedly evil and spite- 
ful would be got rid of, by her means, out of the 
thriving School. 

The thought of this possibility, nay more, of what 
154 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 155 

she considered this certainty, kept Frangoise more 
or less in a state of composure, notwithstanding her 
anger, during the hours which immediately followed 
Hope Ashley’s declaration of her friendship for lit- 
tle Jeanne. As to Frangoise, she scorned and de- 
spised J eanne unspeakably. Great, indeed, would be 
her sense of rejoicing in the thought of punishing 
one so mean, so unworthy. The punishment she con- 
sidered to he close at hand; she little guessed — how 
could she? — that Citoyenne Pelven had prevented 
this by burning the badly-written letter. 

“ Ah, oui,” thought the Citoyenne, “ the vipere is 
bad, but the cobra is worse.” The young page-boy, 
Henri, could, if he wished, tell Frangoise what 
would put her into a state of fury so blinding and 
overpowering that she would scarcely be able to con- 
tain herself ; but then Henri had no intention of en- 
lightening the mademoiselle from Paris. He did not 
like that ugly mademoiselle with the small eyes too 
closely placed together; with the cheeks which were 
apt to flush unbecomingly; with the nose which at 
the least excitement grew red at the tip. Henri 
Sarci, the young page boy, rejoiced in private over 
what had happened to Mademoiselle’s letter. But 
repeat it — not he! To repeat it would be to ruin 
his own chance of good chocolats, good gateaux , and 
the friendship of his esteemed aunt, Citoyenne Pel- 
ven. But although Henri did not mean to let out 
one single word, he rejoiced deeply in the fact that he 
icnew. He even played with this little fact, and 


156 FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

when he saw Frangoise standing in the great central 
hall with her hands crossed before her, and her face 
full of marked discontent, he approached close with 
his duster and began to polish up the legs of the 
tables and chairs that stood round. Frangoise sud- 
denly fixed her eyes on his fac£; Henri’s eyes were 
like beads of jet; they suddenly returned the glance 
of the French girl. 

“ How long does it take for a letter to get from 
here to Lyon ? ” she demanded. 

“ Ah, mais oui ” cried Henri, “ I will ascertain, 
mademoiselle. You have doubtless friends at Lyon, 
Mademoiselle ? ” 

Frangoise turned aside. She was too proud to re- 
spond to such a remark from a servant. Henri went 
to the far end of the hall, examined a certain time- 
table that stood there, and came back in a minute 
with the desired information. 

“ Mademoiselle,” he said, speaking humbly and in 
quite the manner of the well-trained servant, “ a let- 
ter posted over-night and addressed to the great town 
of Lyon would get there not later than the afternoon 
— say a cinq heures of the next day, mademoiselle.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Frangoise. “ I gave you a 
letter to Lyon and you posted it.” 

“ With these,” replied the French hoy, holding up 
his two hands, and speaking with undue emphasis. 

“ C’est bien” answered Frangoise. She put a 
couple of sous into his hand and turned away. Be- 
yond doubt she would hear the following morning, 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 15 7 

and Monsieur Gerusez would appear on the scene 
some time during that day. Yes, Jeanne Gerusez, 
little wretch, her time of enjoyment with her new 
friend would not he long. 

Meanwhile a girl strolled slowly, or with appar- 
ent idleness, into the hall. Frangoise could not think 
of her father, the avocat , and her own undoubted 
and comfortable dot in the presence of this girl. She 
wondered why she lingered in the hall. She won- 
dered still more when she saw her take a deep wicker 
chair and seat herself therein, just as though she was 
anxious to remain — just, in short, as though she in- 
tended to remain. Perhaps she was waiting for 
someone. Well, the hall was public property. Fran- 
goise did not mean to depart. She would hold her 
ground and watch what transpired. Something 
would certainly occur, and meanwhile she could 
watch the girl. The girl had a hook with her and 
was reading, or rather pretending to read. She had 
very neat feet, beautifully shod. Her stockings were 
black silk, and open work. She crossed one leg over 
the other, and Frangoise could see each pretty foot 
distinctly from her own point of vantage. The girl 
was wearing those essentially quiet English clothes 
which French girls never aspire to. She had a neat 
little silk blouse of pale, very pale lavender. Her 
skirt was of lavender cloth, the same shade as her 
blouse. The girl was evidently beyond any doubt 
waiting. Whom was she waiting for? Frangoise 
dared to examine her more minutely. There was a 


158 FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

narrow gold chain round her neck, to which a little 
locket was attached. From examining the chain it 
did not take Frangoise long to raise her eyes and 
scrutinise the firmly and beautifully poised neck; 
the neat features; the mass of golden hair, which 
rested somewhat low on the brow and was plaited 
in English, not French, fashion, in one great, thick 
plait which reached below the girl’s waist. This plait 
was tied at the end with a bow of mauve ribbon ex- 
actly in keeping with the girl’s blouse and skirt. 
She wore tiny earrings, so minute as to be almost in- 
visible in her small ears. Her features were straight, 
her eyes blue, her eyebrows very fair — too fair for 
mere beauty. And Frangoise, who was a sallow 
French girl herself, admired all these signs of old 
England in the face and appearance of the well got 
up English girl. 

Suddenly Muriel St. John dropped the book which 
she had been only pretending to read, turned her 
calm blue eyes in the direction of Frangoise, and said 
in her dignified and haughty voice : 

“ Is it possible, mademoiselle, that you desire to 
say something to me ? ” 

“ Ah, non , non ” exclaimed Frangoise, all her self- 
possession leaving her at the indescribable haughti- 
ness of Muriel St. John’s voice. 

“ Then why do you stare ? ” said Muriel. “ It is 
not considered correct, to stare. But perhaps, for- 
give me if I am wrong, perhaps it is I who have 
something to say to you. Do I not see before me a 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 15 & 

mademoiselle from Paris who is known as Fran- 
goise ? ’” 

“ That is my name. Oh, oh, have yon heard of 
me ? ” cried Frangoise. 

“ I have heard of yon,” said Mnriel, “ and I — to 
be honest, I wish to speak to yon.” 

This was news indeed. This caused the heart of 
Frangoise to flutter with delight. 

“ I shall be proud ” she began. 

But Muriel interrupted her words by a wave of 
her graceful and beautifully made hand. 

“ We shall be undisturbed here,” she said, “ and 
what I have to say will not take very long. I just 
know you by sight, Mademoiselle Frangoise Dupuis. 
In a great School like this it is impossible to get ac- 
quainted with the newcomers immediately. You 
are, I presume, a newcomer ? ” 

“ Ah, oui, c est vrai” replied Frangoise. 

“ I guessed as much. You have been here but a 
very short time. Permit me to — to tell you a little 
bit of your story. You have got already entangled 
in an affair which may be exceedingly unpleasant 
for yourself.” 

The moment Muriel threw down this gauntlet, 
Frangoise lost her nervousness. She said in a tone 
quite as determined and full of strength as Muriel’s 
own : 

“ I do not comprehend your meaning.” 

“Ah,” said Muriel, “but you will soon. You 
became the friend and confidante of a young maiden 


160 FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

of the people who has been longer in the School than 
yourself. I allude to one Jeanne Gerusez, who is 
the daughter, I am given to understand, of a silk- 
manufacturer at Lyon. I do not know anything of 
your antecedents, mademoiselle, and — forgive me — 
I care less. But I’ve come here to speak to you on 
behalf of myself and some other girls in the School, 
in order to assure you that you will do no good to 
yourself or to anyone else by this step which you 
propose to take.” 

“ What step? What do you mean? ” asked Fran- 
goise, who now felt thoroughly frightened and ill at 
ease. 

“ You think,” said Muriel, speaking very quietly 
and very steadily, “ that you have got hold of the 
first threads of a secret which was imparted to you 
in a moment of excitement by the young maiden from 
Lyon, Jeanne Gerusez. As a matter of fact Jeanne 
knows little or nothing of what she is talking of. 
She’s lonely, however, and unhappy, and as such is 
the case, she has the extreme felicity of securing the 
friendship of one of the noblest and most highly- 
born girls in the School — I allude to Hope Ashley, 
who is also my friend. JSTow, Frangoise Dupuis, 
Jeanne most bitterly regrets that she ever took you 
into her confidence. She is quite certain — abso- 
lutely certain — that you are bent on mischief. Yes, 
mischief, Frangoise Dupuis. In short, that you have 
made up your mind to communicate your little scrap 
of no knowledge at all to Madame la Comtesse de 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 161 

Tres. Is it not so, Frangoise Dupuis ? Is such not 
the case ? ” 

“I don’t know why I should tell,” remarked 
Frangoise, her eyes flashing angrily, and her sallow 
face flushing in an unbecoming manner. 

“ I thought,” continued Muriel, still speaking with 
that wonderful dignity, “ that you might perhaps 
have such an intention, and my friends and I thought 
it best that I should mention to you that such a step 
on your part would lead to no good whatsoever. I 
have been at La Chapelle for four years; you have 
been at La Chapelle for a few weeks; I know 
Madame la Comtesse ; you do not know her. Do you 
suppose for a single moment she will listen to any 
story which you bring to her without proof — without 
proof positive. Jeanne Gerusez will certainly not 
confirm her words, and whom else have you to fall 
back upon ? You will be only ’ considered in the 
School a spiteful tale-bearer. Madame will put you 
in your place, and the putting you there will not be 
pleasant. I thought I would warn you — entirely for 
your own sake, remember. If you wish to speak to 
me again on this subject, I shall be in the rose gar- 
den at a quarter-past eleven to-morrow. I should 
advise you to be careful — new girls cannot interfere 
with the ways of a great School like this, a School 
great and old and highly respected. Adieu until to- 
morrow, Mademoiselle Frangoise Dupuis. By the 
way, you have not yet told me from what sort of 
family you spring. We think a great deal of Id 


162 FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

famille in our School. Is your father hy chance a — 
a nobleman ? ” 

“ He is an avocat of Paris, and rich,” said Fran- 
goise, bringing out her words with an angry sputter. 

Muriel slightly, very slightly raised her shoulders ; 
slightly, very slightly lifted her faintly-marked 
brows; and then left the central hall, having effec- 
tually impressed upon Frangoise Dupuis that the 
daughter of a mere avocat was beneath contempt. 

Frangoise sat for some time after Muriel had left 
her, oppressed by anxious thought. She was very 
much struck by Muriel’s manner, by Muriel’s air — 
so grand, so stately. But there was something about 
Muriel which also made the young Parisian girl 
slightly afraid. Frangoise did not understand her 
own fear — it was a new sensation to her, for Jeanne 
was quite right when she described her as at once 
fearless and brave. But was she fearless now? Was 
she brave at the present juncture? She could not 
tell ; she scarcely dared to think. Muriel had beyond 
doubt put the case clearly before her. She, Frangoise 
Dupuis, was a newcomer at the School. She also, ac- 
cording to the greater number of the girls at the said 
School, was a mere nobody. Who was she, for in- 
stance, compared to Hope Ashley, to Muriel St. John, 
to the Comtesse de Mori — to, in short, most of the 
girls of the School ? Of course, on the other hand there 
were certain demoiselles in the great School whom 
Frangoise in her anger considered beneath her. 
There was, for instance, Edmee Leroux, just the 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM RYON. 163 

pleasant-faced, bright daughter of one of the biggest 
vine-growers at Tourelle; and there was that con- 
temptible little Jeanne Gerusez. Yes, she was con- 
temptible. But Frangoise could not help owning to 
herself that Jeanne, by some power — was it magic ? 
— by some power which she herself did not possess, 
had secured a friend whom she, Frangoise, the 
daughter of the Parisian avocat, would have, meta- 
phorically speaking, given her eyes to hold and claim. 
Hope Ashley was now Jeanne’s friend. Hope had 
made a public declaration to that effect, and Jeanne 
was thus forever removed out of the influence of 
Frangoise Dupuis. How withering Muriel had 
been ! How scorching and to the point had been her 
words ! How clearly she had pointed out Frangoise’ s 
own position — Frangoise, with her little tag of a se- 
cret, to assail Madame la Comtesse; to dare to up- 
set the old traditions of the old School. Yes, Fran- 
$oise knew that Muriel, in her stately, calm, quiet 
way, was right. Frangoise, without help, could do 
nothing. But stay — stay — there was still a glimmer- 
ing of hope. M. Paul Gerusez would surely reply to 
her by to-morrow morning’s post. He would ac- 
quaint her with the fact that he was coming — com- 
ing as quickly as the slow trains of mid-France could 
bring him; and when he appeared, even Jeanne, 
naughty, faithless Jeanne, would be forced to reveal 
her secret. Yes, the thought of the arrival of M. 
Paul Gerusez supported Frangoise during the re- 
mainder of that evening. Her letter was undoubtedly 


164 FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

posted, for had not the French boy, Henri, admitted 
as much? In all probability she would get her an- 
swer to-morrow morning. She tried to picture what 
M. Paul Gerusez was like. From Jeanne’s account 
he must be a good man; from Jeanne’s account he 
must undoubtedly be a firm man — a man with no 
nonsense about him; and Jeanne was his only child, 
just as Frangoise was her father’s only child. Hot 
that the Parisian avocat ever spoke good words to 
Frangoise, or made her take a vow to keep her pas- 
sions in check — he was always busy, this great avo- 
cat; always absent from home. Frangoise felt even 
slightly afraid of him, with his stern, long face; his 
yellow beard ; his eyes so closely set, and so like her 
own. He had told her on one occasion that he was 
working hard in order to give her a suitable dot 
some day; but he never spoke to her with affection, 
and never cared for her society. It was impossible 
for Frangoise to feel towards him as little Jeanne 
felt towards M. Gerusez; and yet he was higher up 
in the world than M. Gerusez. There were a great 
many people who thought well of the Parisian avo- 
cat , and spoke with admiration of his future. Fran- 
goise certainly did not love her father, but until this 
afternoon she had felt a certain pride in him. How 
Muriel had taken this pride, crushed it under foot, 
and left the salle. Frangoise felt mortified through 
and through. 

But — but — she was courageous; she was brave. 
She would fight the English girl yet on her own 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 165 

ground. She had hut to wait the arrival of the letter 
of M. Paul Gerusez. 

Disregarding the custom in most French schools, 
Madame la Comtesse de Tres seldom or never inter- 
fered with the correspondence of her young pupils. 
With regard to this principle she acted in accord- 
ance with the schools of England. She allowed the 
girls to make their own friendships,, and she per- 
mitted les demoiselles to write their own letters with- 
out looking at them or interfering with them. She 
was also equally consistent with regard to the letters 
which arrived at the School. She felt that a letter 
was a sacred thing, and that it only did the charac- 
ter of the young mademoiselle harm, not good, if it 
was tampered with. Accordingly freedom was the 
rule, and was carefully obeyed by all the teachers. 
Morning after morning, when the girls assembled 
in the salle d manger for hot, delicious coffee and 
fresh rolls, Mile. Suzanne placed the letter hag be- 
side the plate of Madame la Comtesse. Madame 
unlocked it and distributed its contents. She did 
this quickly and silently, making no comment the 
while. As she sorted the letters, she called the name 
of each girl in turn to receive her share. Franqoise, 
who was seated at the far end of the French table, 
listened with tingling ears and hushed cheeks. 
Would there, or would there not, be a letter for her 
from Lyon? It seemed, as she waited in her burn- 
ing impatience, as though her turn would never come. 
That tiresome Mees Muriel St. J ohn ; that provok- 


166 FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 

ing Mees Hope Ashley; that demoiselle of such rare 
beauty, Mees Joyce Selby — had quite a little pile of 
letters each. They came forward to receive their 
precious store, and resumed their seats at table with- 
out uttering a word. Letters were not allowed to he 
read at the breakfast table, but there was always ten 
minutes after prayers, when the girls of the School 
were allowed to glance through their correspondence. 
There was no letter for Jeanne Gerusez, but there 
were several for Juliette de Tournay; two or three 
also for the Italian girls; and a great many for the 
mistresses who belonged to the Staff. All were dealt 
out calmly, steadily, without fuss or confusion. 
Each girl and each teacher received her allotted share. 
It was also one of the rules of the School that the 
post only arrived once a day. Madame la Comtesse 
de Tres had made an arrangement with the postal 
authorities to send up all the letters to La Chapelle 
by the morning delivery, and by that alone. “ It 
did not do,” argued la Comtesse, “ to have the minds 
of les demoiselles disturbed by letters at all hours 
of the day.” Letters were also only allowed to go 
out at night, and Llenri invariably took them as was 
supposed straight to the post-office, but in reality for 
the quick and eager inspection of his aunt, Citoyenne 
Pelven. Hothing would induce Citoyenne to open a 
letter, but she liked to see the addresses, gazing at 
them with black eyes full of curiosity, through her 
large horn spectacles, which made her jet black eyes 
look larger and blacker than ever. Oh, oh, if Fran- 


FROM PARIS, NOT FROM LYON. 16T 

*§oise had only known of this ! But at last the happy 
and longed-for sound reached her ears. 

“ Mademoiselle Dupuis,” called Madame, and 
Frangoise, shaking not a little, went up the long 
room. There was a letter for her. She was right, 
she was safe. Her dearest dreams would be realised. 

“ Ha, ha, Muriel St. J ohn ! ” she muttered under 
her breath. “ With all your grandeur and your 
crushing haughtiness, you have little power now to 
stay my hand.” 

The said hand of Frangoise shook so much when 
she held it out for her letter that the letter itself fell 
on the floor. She stooped to pick it up, her ears 
tingling, the tip of her nose growing painfully red. 
But alas, as she stooped she saw the direction on the 
letter and also the postmark. The letter came not 
from Lyon, but straight from Paris, and it was in 
the writing of le bon pere , the avocat. 

A sickening disappointment took possession of 
her. She crushed the letter into her pocket and re- 
turned to her seat. How strange of M. Paul 
Gerusez not to have written! But perhaps he was 
'Coming — he might come at any minute. If so, all 
would — all must be well. But how much better if he 
had only written. And then le bon pere , as Jeanne 
called him, had not even sent a line to his little 
daughter. Frangoise felt a good deal puzzled and 
distressed. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE NEW MAMAN. 

Prayers were over, and those girls who had re- 
ceived letters were busily engaged perusing them. 
Hope had called Jeanne Gerusez to her side, and as 
she read her own letters, she volunteered little hits of 
information to the excited and happy girl. Hope’s 
present object was to keep her as much away from 
Frangoise as was possible. Frangoise, seeing that 
she was not wanted, went into the tiny bower which 
was meant for two, and languidly opened her fa- 
ther’s letter. It was stiff and formal, as were all the 
letters written by the clever avocat. Its words were 
couched in the following terms, which must be trans- 
lated for the benefit of the English reader : 

My dear, dear Frangoise: — 

I write to you to impart information. By this, 
same post there goes also a letter to Madame la 
Comtesse which will acquaint her with the fact that 
I am now about to tell you. Mon enfant , it pleased 
the Almighty to remove your dear mother at your 
birth. For long years I’ve lived a solitary man alone ; 
but now Frangoise, ma fille , I propose to give you a 
second mother and to take to myself a second wife. 
The lady is herself a widow and is of suitable age.. 

168 


THE NEW MAMAN. 


169 


She brings with her a very considerable fortune, and 
I can take a larger house and live in better style. I 
will not at present acquaint you with the name she 
bore, for that is not of the slightest importance to 
you. For, at the time when you are reading this, she 
will he to you your chere maman and my beloved 
wife. I write this letter on my way to the marriage 
feast. You will not hear from me again, Frangoise, 
for some little time, as I shall be enjoying my honey- 
moon with my beloved new wife. But my daughter, 
as you may require money, I enclose herewith an 
order on the bank at Tourelle for two hundred 
francs. This you can draw on as you require it. I 
shall not be at home at the festive season of Christ- 
mas ; I am therefore making arrangements with 
Madame la Comtesse to keep you at the School. It 
is possible that at Mi-Careme I may invite you to 
meet your new mamma in Paris. Until then, adieu. 
Accept all felicitations for your happiness, and be* 
lieve me, 

Your ever devoted father, 

Andke Dupuis. 


The letter would have dropped from Frangoise’s 
cold and trembling hands but for the little precious 
enclosure, which made her the happy possessor of 
two hundred francs. Otherwise she felt nearly wild. 
A perfectly physical hatred of her father rose up in 
her heart. She was smitten to the very core of her 
being. Had he not whenever he did speak to her, 
alluded at least to her mother with love and affec- 
tion; and now — oh, now — what could this mean? 
She felt as though something or someone had frozen. 


170 


THE HEW MAMAN. 


her. She hardly knew how to contain her own emo- 
tions. She did not hear the great gong sound within 
the house, the gong which was the signal for all 
demoiselles to enter the classrooms for lessons. She 
was, in short, oblivious to all sounds, beyond the 
horrible beating of her own heart, caused by the news 
which was brought to her. She — she — Frangoise — 
was cast defenceless, without one friend, on this great 
School; and she could not even go home for the 
merry time of Noel. She must stay at the dull, dull 
^school all through the detestable holidays. But did 
she ever want to go home again? Was there any 
home for her now that maman — maman, as her fa- 
ther called her, had come to fill her place, to share 
her life, to render all the old things which suddenly 
assumed value in her eyes, impossible ? 

A gentle voice said : 

“ Mademoiselle Frangoise,” and looking up, she 
met the puzzled glance of the little French teacher, 
Mile. Suzanne. 

“ But cherie,” exclaimed Mile. Suzanne, “ we are 
.all assembled and lessons wait. Wilt thou not hurry, 
cherie ? Didst thou not hear the great gong sound 
for the assembling of the pupils ? and M. Perrot, the 
dancing-master, has come all the way from Paris. 
Vite, vite , mademoiselle j’ implore; thou wilt other- 
wise get into trouble.” 

“ I care not,” murmured Frangoise, but she said 
the words in a whisper. She did not wish to confide 
her sorrows to Mile. Suzanne. 


THE NEW MAMAN. 


171 


In the course of that morning’s work Frangoise 
Remembered, and even with a certain degree of pleas- 
ure, the fact that she was due to meet Muriel St. 
John in the rose garden during recess. Recess oc- 
cupied from half an hour to three-quarters, according 
to the teachers who came from Paris ; on this special 
day it would occupy three-quarters of an hour. The 
girls need not reassemble in their classrooms until 
twelve o’clock, midi, that hour of all hours, when a 
short task was given preparatory to dejeuner. Fran- 
goise, who had loathed the idea of meeting Muriel 
once again, who had fondly hoped to confront 
Muriel with M. Paul Gerusez, now even felt a sense 
of relief. Anything to distract her attention — any- 
thing to keep her thoughts away from le pere et 
maman. Maman, she should never be her maman , 
never, never, never! The girl so far absolutely for- 
got her anticipated triumph in the School; the joy of 
crushing Jeanne, of destroying that so-called no se- 
cret which was assuredly a secret of the very greatest ; 
that she hardly bore it in mind at all. As the morn- 
ing lessons came to an end she hurried, however, to 
keep her appointment with Muriel. 

At the further end of the old world rose garden, 
that garden so beloved by the nuns, so carefully 
tended by them, was a little bower which in summer- 
time was one mass of honeysuckle. The blossoms of 
the honeysuckle had long passed away, and most of 
the leaves lay in withered confusion on the ground. 
The little place looked bare, uninviting and ear- 


172 


THE NEW MAMAN. 


wiggy; but outside in the sunshine a few late roses 
still blossomed. Frangoise, notwithstanding her pe- 
culiar and complex character, had a passion for roses, 
and she now stooped to smell one in order to take in 
the delicious perfume. None of the girls were al- 
lowed to pick any of the flowers in the rose garden — 
they were all considered sacred to Madame la Com- 
tesse. Now as Frangoise bent forward and inhaled 
the perfume of the rose, a neatly-dressed, piquant 
little figure advanced quickly towards her ; and 
Muriel St. John, wearing dark brown to-day instead 
of mauve, stood by her side. From the outer garden 
she had secured a large crimson rose and a piece of 
late heliotrope. These she had fastened into the 
front of her dress, giving thereby the last perfection 
to the neatness and correctness of her costume. There 
was something, however, in the expression of Fran- 
goise’s face which caused Muriel St. John to do 
something which she was certainly not noted for do- 
ing — in short, to give up something for the sake of 
another. 

“ You love flowers, n’est-ce pas, mademoiselle?” 
she said. 

“ Ah, oui,” answered Frangoise, “ I adore them.” 

“ And,” continued Muriel, “ you are sniffing the 
perfume of the last rose of summer. Is it not so? 
But behold ! here is another last rose. Wilt thou ac- 
cept it, mademoiselle, from me ? ” 

Francoise gazed at Muriel in a sort of stupid 
wonder. 


THE HEW MAMAN. 


173 


Quick as thought Muriel unpinned her little bunch 
of flowers and transferred them to Frangoise’s dress, 
placing them there deftly and gracefully. 

“ Ah, ah, hut they suit you,” she said. “ You love 
the flowers and you should always wear the flowers. 
They bring out your — your points, nest-ce pas?” 

“ I don’t know and I don’t care,” said Frangoise. 

“ We ought never to say ‘ we don’t know and we 
don’t care,’ ” replied Muriel. “ Shall we continue 
our conversation broken off somewhat abruptly last 
night? Perhaps I was rude to you last night, Fran- 
goise Dupuis. If so, I am sorry. I have what is 
called in England a ‘ shocking temper.’ You must 
forgive me when it flares up.” 

Frangoise still looked dull, stupid, uninterested. 

“ Flow, listen, pray,” said Muriel, “ for I have 
something of great importance to confide to you. My 
news need never be known; but if it ever is known, 
it will electrify and by no means pleasingly, certain 
fair maidens in the School. For instance, there is 
your friend, Jeanne Gerusez.” 

“ She is not my friend,” interrupted Frangoise. 
“ I hate and despise her ; she is a treacherous and 
mean demoiselle. Do not talk to me of her, mademoi- 
selle, I implore. Her very name rouses my worst 
passions.” 

“ But suppose,” said Muriel, speaking very softly, 
“ suppose, for the sake of argument, that you ob- 
tained — nay more, that you are offered a position 
which she covets, a position which she — yes, she 


174 


THE HEW MAMAN. 


begged for, and was — yes, was refused. How 
would that do, Frangoise Dupuis ? How would that 
suit the feelings of your sore heart ? ” 

Frangoise’s dull and ugly eyes glittered with a 
strange light. For a moment she did not say a word, 
then she spoke with a sort of breathless rush. 

“ I do not understand you, Muriel St. J ohn ; hut 
anything that humiliates Jeanne Gerusez must of 
necessity give me pleasure.” 

“ Ah, I thought so, I hoped so,” said Muriel. She 
laid her delicate hand very lightly on the French 
girl’s arm. 

“ I am going to speak to you from my heart,” she 
said ; “ and what I say to you now I say in confi- 
dence, which I trust to your honour not to repeat.” 

“ My honour will stand the strain, I assure you,” 
replied Frangoise, her sorrows for the time forgotten, 
and her excitement wildly to the fore. 

“ Bon , cest bon, ” exclaimed Muriel. “Ho girl 
would speak as you have done, with any thought of 
betrayal. How then, attendez-vous ? I have con- 
sulted with my fellows. I do what I do with their 
consent and desire. You have got hold, Frangoise 
Dupuis, of a little bit of a secret — a little bit, not 
much; not enough to do us or yourself either harm 
or good. How, I am willing to confide in you still 
further, on the sole and absolute condition that you 
regard my words as sacred and repeat them to no 
one. Clearly understand, to no one % ” 


THE NEW MAMAN. 


175 


“ I will not repeat a single word yon say to me/ r 
replied Frangoise. 

“ I believe you,” answered Muriel ; “ I believe that 
you can Help us. You wanted to injure us, nest-ce 
pas? but that could not be. Now then, listen. Lis- 
ten attentively and for all you are worth. We have 
a secret; there is a Society; and I ask you now, in 
my own name and in the name of the other members, 
to join that Society, to become one of us, Frangoise, 
to aid us, to abide by our rules. Your object was to 
crush us, but our object is to uplift you. The very 
nicest girls in the School belong. Will you belong? 
Jeanne Gerusez figuratively went on her knees to 
us to join, but we refused her utterly and completely. 
We invite you to join ; will you join ? ” 

“ I — I — I can scarcely believe my ears,” said 
Frangoise. “ You offer me, a comparative stranger, 
what you refused to Jeanne. There must assuredly 
be a motive in this. What is the motive, Muriel St. 
John ? ” 

Muriel burst into a ringing laugh. 

“ Ah,” she said, “ but you are wise, Frangoise Du- 
puis, and you will suit us to a nicety. We want — 
yes, we want one like you. I can tell you nothing 
further until the night of your initiation, except — 
except one thing, and that thing is of very grave im- 
portance. No one can become a. member without put- 
ting down the argent. How much money can you 
spare to us, Frangoise Dupuis ? ” 

Frangoise thought of the note which her father 


176 


THE NEW MAMAN. 


had sent her — the note by means of which she could 
draw on the bank at Tourelle to the amount of two 
hundred francs. 

“ I am not rich/’ she said slowly, for she also 
could be careful if she chose, “ but my father — my 
father to-day sent me some money.” 

“ How much ? ” asked Muriel in a voice choking 
with eagerness. 

“ He has not sent me a great deal,” continued 
Fran§oise ; “ and as I am not returning home for 
Christmas, as I anticipated, I must keep some for 
my own personal use. My father has just married 
again and will not be in Paris at Christmas. This 
is a very bitter grief to me, and please, I do not wish 
it commented on. He says I may join him and — 
and — his wife at Mi-Car eme. In the meantime I 
have to live. If I approve of your Society, I can let 
you have one hundred francs, and doubtless from 
time to time more ; but that is all for the present.” 

“ That will suffice,” replied Muriel. “ One hun- 
dred francs on the day of your initiation, which will 
be to-morrow evening. The initiation will be quiet, 
without any pomp and ceremony, but you will be of 
use to us and I do not think you will again complain 
of not being wanted at the School.” As Muriel said 
the last words she walked quickly away, and Fran- 
chise stood feeling a little stunned and vastly excited. 
It mattered nothing at all to her now, should M. Paul 
Gerusez arrive ; nay, more, she knew that if he did 
come, she must by hook or by crook throw dust into 


THE HEW MAMAN. 


177 


liis eyes. For was she not herself about to become a 
member of that Society which had refused the mem- 
bership of Jeanne, his child ? Yes, she was glad, she 
was excited. She must be very careful to hold her 
tongue. But life from being cold and dull became 
suddenly flecked all over with sunshiny, and she 
knew that even her father’s second marriage could 
not keep her from enjoying an intense and rare ex- 
citement which ran like wine through her veins. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRAHCS. 

The initiation of Franqoise Dupuis to the mem- 
bership of the Societe de Joie was after all but a very 
simple affair. There was no grandeur, there was no 
fete of any sort. The members of the Societe were, 
however, present, wearing on this occasion their plain 
everyday dress. The old front attic was undecor- 
ated and looked dull in the late gloom of the Novem- 
ber afternoon. One or two candles had been placed 
on an old box, but otherwise the place was almost in 
darkness. Nevertheless the members arrived as was 
requested, and it was at the different faces of the said 
members that Franqoise eagerly — most eagerly 
looked. She could just see them in the gloaming. 
Whatever the plainness of her own features, her 
eyesight was at least excellent. And she recognised 
with extreme pleasure the well-known features of 
some of the best known and most highly-esteemed 
girls in the School. There was, for instance, Com- 
tesse Caterina de Mori ; there was Mile. Alain de St. 
Aignan; there was Mile. Juliette de Tournay; there 
was Mile. Marguerite de Marni ; and there were 
those two striking looking, classical girls, Gemma 
Ravella and Imelda Olivetta. Seated also, somewhat 
178 


THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 179 

crouched up in a corner, could be seen the bright 
face and neat little figure of Edmee Leroux. There 
were many other girls also present, girls who were 
essential to the Societe , but who do not take an ac- 
tive part in this story. Frangoise was led into the 
midst of the room by Muriel St. John. She looked 
around her with satisfaction. Then her eyes lighted 
upon Edmee, and a frown swept across her brow. 
She took no more notice of Edmee than if she were 
dirt. Up to the present she had thought it a great 
compliment to be invited to join that Societe which 
had refused to admit Jeanne Gerusez. But where 
was the compliment, after all, when such a girl as 
Edmee Leroux, the daughter of a vine-grower at 
Tourelle, was present ? Muriel looked at E rangoise 
and seemed to read her thoughts like an open book. 
Muriel smiled one of those very slight satirical smiles 
which she and Caterina seemed to keep between 
them. She then proceeded quickly to business. She 
informed the other demoiselles that Frangoise Du- 
puis wished to become a member of Le Societe de 
Joie , that she had expressed her willingness to con- 
form to the rules of the said Societe , and that on the 
present occasion she was prepared to take upon her- 
self the necessary vows and to go through the neces- 
sary initiation. The vows, after all, were simple 
enough. Muriel read them quickly aloud in French, 
and, with her pretty English accent, gave them a cer- 
tain grace which added to the charm even of that 
most charming language. The novitiate must con- 


180 THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 

form to the vows, or she could not possibly become 
a member. She must swear solemnly to absolute and 
complete obedience to the Committee. Here Muriel 
paused and pointed to a row of girls who were seated 
on an old bench at a little distance. 

“ Comtesse Caterina de Mori,” she exclaimed, 
“ Mile. Alain de St. Aignan, Mile. Edmee Leroux.” 

Franchise started, and a deep frown passed over 
her face. 

Muriel continued as though she bad seen neither 
start nor frown. 

“ Mile. Marguerite de Marni, Mile. Juliette de 
Tournay, Signorina Gemma Ravella, and Signorina 
Imelda Olivetta.” 

To the laws laid down by this Committee, Fran- 
chise must absolutely bow. She must submit her- 
self; she must do exactly what they told her with- 
out murmur or hesitation. This Committee was, as 
far as her connexion with the Society was concerned, 
to be her absolute ruler. 

The next vow Franchise was to take was that of 
absolute and complete secrecy. Were she indeed so 
unworthy as to let out a syllable of what went on at 
their meetings, their fetes, their various entertain- 
ments, she would be bounded out of their midst with 
contumely. 

The Societe consisted of 30 members. They 
greatly hoped that the members would soon reach 32. 
That would include Franchise herself and the young 
English Mees, Joyce Selby. Would Franchise, or 


THE MYSTERY OP THE PIVE FRANCS. 181 

would she not, take these two vows ? F rangoise ex- 
pressed her readiness to do so. Immediately on say- 
ing this, she was surrounded by the entire group of 
the Committee, who one and all commanded that she 
should solemnly and in the presence of the rest of 
the Societe kiss their left hands in token of her fealty. 
This she also did without apparent hesitation, al- 
though Muriel, who was watching her closely, ob- 
served that she hardly touched the little hand of 
Edmee. 

Muriel immediately now changed her tone. The 
solemnity vanished from her voice, she became gay 
and even cheerful. She took from her pocket a little 
green velvet bag, and opening it, brought it up to 
Franchise. Frangoise immediately dropped therein 
5 golden napoleons. There came a sort of pleasure 
to her heart as she heard the tinkle of gold against 
gold. Whatever they might think of her, she was 
dealing handsomely with the Society. Having re- 
ceived her entrance fee, Muriel stepped back a pace 
and whispered a few words into the ears of Caterina. 

“ You now belong to us,” said the Comtesse; “ and 
we will treat you accordingly. As a reward for 
obeying our commands, we will ourselves give you 
our full confidence. Do not, pray, imagine from the 
present appearance of the room that it looks like this 
on the night of a great fete. That is very far from 
being the case. The initiation of a new member is 
a trivial affair, but the enthroning of a queeu is a 
very great affair, and we hope to enthrone our new 


182 THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 

queen on next Tuesday fortnight.” The Comtesse 
then proceeded to enlighten Frangoise with regard to 
the programme of the Societe de Joie. It was, as 
she expressed, great, grand, magnifique; above all 
things, it was secret. Ah, mais oui , very secret* 
She explained to Frangoise that once each year a 
Queen was chosen with great eclat and amid great 
rejoicings. The young Queen they now hoped to se- 
cure was that most beautiful and most wealthy young 
Mees — Joyce Selby of England. 

She had already been present at one of their fetes, 
and although she had not actually promised to join 
the Societe , she had all but done so. Yes, they felt 
practically sure of Joyce. For a whole year she 
would reign over them; and with her money, her 
beauty, her charm, she would lead the Societe through 
a season of fun and great rejoicing. 

Every member, even the members of the all-pow- 
erful Committee, must bow to the Queen. She came 
first of all ; her word was law — yes, law of the most 
supreme; she was their liege lady, their sovereign. 
The stately young Comtesse then went on to explain 
to Frangoise a general sketch of their proceedings, 
telling Frangoise that she would be permitted to en- 
quire more fully into the rules, from her own very 
dear friend, Mile. Marguerite de Marni, who would 
give her a book containing the cipher of the Society, 
which cipher she could very quickly acquire. The 
Comtesse, in her haughty young way, now pro- 
nounced the meeting at an end. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 183 * 

“ You can go if you like,” she said to the new 
member ; “ but clearly understand that you belong , 
and to reveal even the ghost of one of our secrets will 
mean for you a fate which is far, far worse than be- 
ing expelled from the School.” 

“ I have promised to obey, I have promised to he 
faithful — I will obey, I will he faithful,” said Eran- 
>goise in a choking sort of voice; then she left the at- 
tic, followed, however, immediately by Marguerite 
de Marni. 

The rest of the girls looked at each other. 

“ She will be useful, she will do our dirty work,” 
said Muriel in a low, contented tone, which was only 
heard by the Comtesse and by Edmee Leroux, who 
was standing near. “ We have always hitherto 
wanted someone of her sort,” continued Muriel; 

“ and she has subscribed handsomely for her right of 
admission. Eive napoleons! It is a considerable 
sum and puts us in funds once again.” 

“ But what have you yourself subscribed ? ” ex- 
claimed Juliette de Touraay, glancing up at Muriel 
as she spoke. ‘ ‘Remember we have a great deal of 
-expense to undergo immediately, and no time to 
lose.” 

Muriel looked significantly at the girls who did 
not belong to the Committee and yet formed part of 
the Society. “We are in funds,” she repeated, as 
the said girls took the hint and left the attic. “ I 
Rave contributed my dot ” — she did not mention that 


184 THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 

her dot consisted of five francs — “ and La Comtesse 
Caterina ” 

“ I paid two napoleons towards the fund this 
morning,” said the Comtesse. “ But now what is it, 
Edmee, child ? Why do you look at us out of your 
large brown eyes ? ” She spoke almost with affection 
to the little daughter of the vine-grower. 

Edmee coloured deeply and then put a small packet 
into the hand of Comtesse Caterina, whom she loved. 

“ This also contains five napoleons she said, 
“ which is, I think, the sum given by Eran§oise Du- 
puis for the right of membership. Take the money, 
cheres demoiselles , take it one and all, with the whole 
heart and love of Edmee Leroux, who will be faith- 
ful to you and to the Society until the death. Mon 
cher pere , me V a donne hier soir, quand je suis allee 
le voir . Mon pere , he say to me — Petite Edmee , the 
vines prosper, and behold ! there is more from whence 
this came. Ah! but he is not ashamed of his good 
trade, is mon pere.” 

“ Nor of you, Edmee ; I should think not,” said 
the Comtesse. “ We accept your present and we 
thank your worthy father — is it not so, Muriel ? ” 

“ It is indeed so,” answered Muriel. “ We are 
now truly in funds.” 

“ Shall we here and now count the contents of the 
green velvet bag ? ” asked the Comtesse. 

But this very natural desire was very far from 
MurieTs wishes. She did not wish her shabby five 
francs to be noticed and commented on. There was. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 185 

however, no withstanding Comtesse Caterina’s 
haughty and determined manner and the golden na- 
poleons lay in a goodly heap on the little makeshift 
table. 

“ But what are these ? ” said Caterina, flicking the 
five francs aside with a disdainful finger. 

Muriel turned crimson. “ I know not,” she said, 
u there must he a mistake. Or perhaps a member of 
La Societe , tres pauvre , vous comprenez, has dropped 
in this little offering out of gratitude.” 

“ I do not see your napoleon or napoleons ” said 
Caterina. 

“ I have them in my room, I will fetch them,” 
said Muriel. 

“ It would be well,” said Caterina, in her haugh- 
tiest voice. 

Muriel, inwardly glowering with anger, was 
forced to retire for the purpose. She had lost, in- 
deed, by her mean little trick, as her offering now to 
the funds of the impoverished Society must, if she 
would keep up her credit, amount to forty-five 
francs , and five of these francs would be supposed 
to be the offering of someone else. But there was 
no help for it. She returned quickly with the 
money, which she placed on the table. La Comtesse 
Caterina had a keen eye for finance, and wrote down 
on a slip of paper the exact amount which the bag 
contained. She then handed it again to Muriel. 

“ It may be necessary by and by, I do not say 
when, to seek a fresh treasurer,” she remarked, and 


186 THE MYSTERY OP THE FIVE FRANCS. 

the words smote on Muriel’s proud spirit like gall 
and wormwood. 

But all attention was directed away from the ques- 
tion of money and the little velvet bag by a remark 
made by Edmee Leroux. Edmee stepped a little 
forward, so that the dim light from one of the can- 
dles fell on her charming and sweet face. 

“ I love you all — all,” she began, “ and until the 
death — yes, until the death I will be faithful. I 
have taken vows, and those vows I will keep. But I 
never took a vow to belong interminably to the So- 
ciety, and I wish now to proffer my resignation.” 

“ But why ! why ! Edmee cherie ? ” cried several 
distressed voices, for the little daughter of the vine- 
grower was a prime favourite in the Society. 

“We cannot let you go, Edmee,” exclaimed 
Muriel. 

“ What is the meaning of this ? ” asked La Com- 
tesse. 

“ I had perhaps best tell you the meaning,” said 
Edmee, raising her velvety brown eyes, and fixing 
them on the face of Comtesse Caterina. “ You will 
of course, cheres demoiselles , consider my words both 
secret and sacred. I am a poor little nobody, but you 
have treated me always — always, as one of your- 
selves; and I have been happy, very happy in your 
midst. But I cannot continue a member of that 
Societe which has Fran§oise Dupuis as one of its as- 
sociates. Ask me no reasons, kindest of friends, but 
go I must. Ah, but it is sorrow to me, and I will 


THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 187 

be faithful — faithful unto the death ; hut go I must.” 

Without waiting for a single word of expostula- 
tion, little Edmee tripped out of the attic, closing the 
great door softly behind her. Her small feet were 
heard running down the broken stairs, and then there 
was silence while the members of the Committee 
glanced with extreme distress, with, indeed, bewil- 
derment, from one to the other. 

“ Well,” said the Comtesse at last, “ we have ex- 
changed one like her — one who, whatever her social 
rank, is pure and high and good as the angels are 
good, for one like Frangoise Dupuis. I admire your 
taste, Muriel. Your deed of to-day has done mis- 
chief irreparable to the Societe de Joie which only 
time will prove.” 

“ This is terrible,” whispered Muriel, “ but we 
shall get her back, assuredly we shall get her back.” 

“Hever!” replied the Comtesse. “ With all your 
knowledge of human character, Muriel St John, you 
do not know that of Edmee Leroux.” 

After uttering these words, the tall and stately 
young Comtesse bent forward and extinguished the 
lights, put the sconces out of sight in the deep cup- 
board, locked the door of the said cupboard, the key 
of which she gave to Muriel to keep ; and then one 
by one, stricken, depressed, overcome, the Commit- 
tee left the front attic, no longer with joyful steps. 
It was strange surely that the little daughter of a 
mere vine-grower should cause such commotion, such 
grief, in the very essence of the heart of the Com- 


188 THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 

mittee, but such was most truly the case; for was 
not little Edmee one of those pure and simple beings 
who are trusted and loved wherever they go, and to 
whatever rank they belong? 

It was on the afternoon of the next day, that 
Juliette de Tournay was called aside by the Com- 
tesse and requested to explain the rules in all their 
minute fulness to Joyce Selby. 

“ You must take the opportunity,” said the Com- 
tesse, “ of getting Joyce to understand the cipher. 
You must explain to her how all-important it is that 
she should become our Queen. You must disabuse 
her mind of any intention of shirking so grave a 
responsibility, and you must inform her that it is 
absolutely necessary for her to learn our very simple 
cipher, as only by means of the cipher can we write 
to each other — can we send messages of any sort what- 
soever from one member of the Societe de Joie to 
another member.” 

Juliette’s great dark eyes were slightly reddened 
round the lids. She had, in fact, been crying a 
great deal at the defection of Edmee from their 
midst. Comtesse Caterina now gazed at her fully 
and fearlessly. 

“ Juliette, you have been crying.” 

“ My heart is sore,” said Juliette. 

“ But you must not think of your own heart on 
this occasion,” remarked Caterina. “ Understand 
that you who belong to a Society must live for the 
good of all, yes, all. Edmee has chosen to desert us. 


THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRANCS. 189 

Iier desertion is sore and sad, and in my humble 
opinion Muriel behaved very badly when she intro- 
duced such a girl as Franqoise into our midst. But 
remember what our present object is. It is to se- 
cure the services of the English maiden, Joyce 
Selby. There must not be a word breathed to her 
with regard to Edmee’s withdrawal; neither must 
there be a word mentioned to her concerning the new 
member, Frangoise. When she is a member we will 
naturally confide in her, adhere to her decisions, do 
her wishes. But now the time has come for you to 
speak to her, Juliette. Take the opportunity this 
evening. Do not delay, but meet her somewhere as 
though by accident in the grounds. Then invite her 
to join you; tell her what your motive is, show her 
the book of cipher. You and she can read it in the 
little honeysuckle arbour in the rose garden. But 
remember, we have faithfully promised in no way 
to compel her sovereignty. She comes to us freely or 
not at all; for my part I think she will come, and, 
oh, she will make such a beautiful — such a lovely , 
perfect queen. She is full of resource ; she will raise 
the Societe de Joie into something better, greater, 
higher than it has ever been. We must not — we dare 
not — lose her ; and yet there is a possibility, perhaps 
only the ghost of one, that she may prefer to keep 
her absolute independence, to be bound by no rules 
or no vows. You can find out if such will be the 
case without appearing to ask for information.” 

“Yes, I can find out,” replied Juliette; “but I 


190 THE MYSTERY OF THE FIVE FRAHCS. 

own/’ she added, “ that I do not like the task. Com- 
tesse ” — here she clutched Caterina’s arm — “ ah/’ she 
continued, “ we are safe, we are alone. Comtesse, 
can you understand the mystery of those five 
francs ? ” 

“ Don’t ask me, don’t question me,” said Com- 
tesse Caterina. 

“ Ah, Comtesse,” said Juliette, u your thoughts are 
as my thoughts ; but if our heads — the very heads of 
our Committee — fail us, where are we ? ” 

“ Where indeed ? ” said the Comtesse appealingly. 
“ But never mind,” she added, “ all will be well if 
we secure our queen.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


CONING* S TOWER. 

In the early days of this story it may he recollected 
that the young English girl, Joyce Selby, had a pri- 
vate interview of some importance with Madame la 
Comtesse. Madame looked with some astonishment 
at the girl as she spoke. For this girl, unlike most 
of her fellows, wished to assume the garb of pov- 
erty. She wanted, in fact, to appear at La Chapelle 
as a poor, not a rich, girl. Xow Madame la Com- 
tesse could not personally sanction such a proceed- 
ing. She had no undue reverence for money, but she 
undoubtedly looked on great possessions as a gift, 
and she also felt that in the case of one like Joyce 
Selby — one who was not only rich, very rich, but 
also extremely beautiful and extremely talented ; one 
in whose own veins flowed the blood of ancestors both 
noble and in every sense of the word great — she could 
scarcely realise her desires. But Madame la Com- 
tesse was a Frenchwoman. And being French, she 
did not care to put the onus of what Joyce had 
begged for on her own shoulders. The thought 
flashed through her mind that Miss Tabor was the 
woman for her purpose. She would accordingly send 
for Miss Tabor, talk to her confidentially, and get 
191 


192 


coning’s tower. 


Miss Tabor in fact to tackle this young recalcitrant, 
and get her to see how more than silly, how in fact 
wrong, were her ideas. Madame la Comtesse, it has 
been said, was French; but Miss Tabor was English. 
She was honourable, true, upright. A lie to her was 
something horrible. To appear before others as 
anyone but what you were was to Miss Tabor 
sinful. Perhaps this English mistress was a trifle 
hard, but anyhow she failed to understand the mo- 
tives of Joyce Selby. She even spoke with some heat 
and anger when Madame revealed to her the subject 
of the young girl’s desire. 

“ It is wrong and unnecessary,” she said, “ and I 
for one refuse to have anything to do with it.” 

On hearing these words Madame la Comtesse 
poured out the vials of her wrath on Miss Tabor. 

“ The girl is by birth noble,” she said ; “ and by 
nature noble. It is impossible for me to accede to 
her request, but I thought perhaps you might open 
her eyes.” 

“ And why not yourself, Madame ? ” asked the 
English teacher. 

Madame thought for a minute. Then she said 
with the subtlety of her race: 

“ You must remember, Miss Tabor, that at pres- 
ent J oyce Selby is new to the School, and in particu- 
lar new to the French tongue. I can speak Eng- 
lish, it is true, but English is not my native lan- 
guage. How it is yours. Will you, therefore, as a 
personal favour, explain the true position of affairs 


CONHSTg’s TOWER. 


193 


to this brave young Mees, and get her to see where 
she really stands — where she must stand — in the 
School ? ” 

“ I will try, of course, in order to oblige you, 
Madame,” replied the teacher, who felt, however, 
that an ugly and unnecessary task was put upon her. 
She left the presence of Madame and as this was the 
hour of recess, went immediately to seek for Joyce. 
She was a downright, plain-spoken woman, and when 
she had to undertake anything unpleasant, she 
thought no time like the present. She quickly found 
Joyce and Hope chatting together in that absolutely 
intimate way which girls, English girls, who have 
known each other all their lives, and who are also 
connected by a near relationship, indulge in. Miss 
Tabor tapped Joyce lightly on the shoulder. 

“ I have a word to say to you, J oyce Selby,” she 
remarked, and without even glancing at Hope, who 
was in reality a prime favourite of hers, she carried 
the new girl off to her own private room. 

Joyce had been feeling excited after that wonder- 
ful fete of the evening before. The eager words of 
the girls had dazzled and almost confused her. She 
was a little, in fact, off her head with regard to the 
subject of the proposed sovereignty. Never — never 
before in the course of her whole young life had 
words so sweet, so flattering, and at the same time so 
apparently sincere, been addressed to her ! She 
longed inexpressibly to confide her own sensations, 
and to make a full confidence, to Hope Ashley. But 


194 : 


coning’s tower. 


this she was under a vow not to do. In short, she 
had given her word, and her word, to English Joyce 
Selby, was worth a thousand vows. Was it not, as 
she herself expressed it, her bond ? 

She wondered now why Miss Tabor required her 
presence, but accompanied her without a word. It 
was the rule at the great school of La Chapelle to 
provide each teacher with her own small sitting- 
room, and Miss Tabor now threw open the door and 
motioned to the English girl to precede her into the 
room. Unlike most of the other rooms in the old 
convent, this room was essentially a home. It was 
the home of the English teacher. There was nothing 
whatever French about it. It had soft, white muslin 
curtains draped at the windows; equally soft moss- 
green felt covered the whole floor. There was a shelf 
full of English books ; a desk of English make ; chairs 
which had also come from England; and the few 
photographs which were scattered on the tables were 
of English men and women. The pictures on the 
walls were original water colours depicting English 
scenes. Joyce gave a sudden, almost sharp little cry 
as she entered this room, for directly staring her in 
the face was an extremely well-done water colour by 
an artist of some repute. It was, in short, a picture 
of Coning’s Tower Castle, with Warwick Castle and 
Guy’s Cliff in the distance. But the foreground was 
principally occupied by Coning’s Tower itself. 
Coning’s Tower! Joyce’s own most beloved home. 
Tears brimmed up to the girl’s eyes ; the whole scene 


CONING S TOWER. 


195 


was so familiar — the long, low, castellated house with 
its ruined tower at the further end; its high, wide 
bay windows; its balconies overhead; its smoothly 
kept lawns; its flower-beds; a man mowing in the 
distance; a girl standing with her hand flung over 
the neck of an old brown pony. 

“ Miss Tabor,” exclaimed Joyce, “ is it possible 
that you know my home ? 99 

“ I was born in the village near by,” said Miss 
Tabor, “ but I left the place when I was very young. 
I’ve always loved it, however; loved the memory of 
the castle which goes by the name of Coning’s Tower ; 
and once, some years ago, I asked a very clever and 
rising young artist to paint this picture for me. He 
did so, and would not charge me anything. When 
my mother died some years ago, the last look in her 
dying eyes was directed towards Coning’s Tower.” 

“ Oh, don’t — oh, don’t tell me any more,” said 
Joyce. She suddenly sank into a chair, and proud, 
reserved English girl that she was, hurst into tears. 

Miss Tabor took no notice whatever of her tears. 
She was far too wise for that. After a time, how- 
ever, she brought her a glass of cold water, and then 
laid her hand gently and tenderly on the girl’s 
shoulder. 

“ My picture has startled you,” she said ; “ I 
meant it to, for I have seen Madame la Comtesse, 
and Madame tells me that you wish while in this 
School to disown your noble property, to refuse to 
be considered what you really are — the owner of 


196 


coning’s tower. 


Coning’s Tower. I do not know what your reason 
is, but I wish to say plainly and directly that in so 
acting and so doing, Joyce Selby, you are untrue to 
the memory of your forefathers, and to the home of 
your possession. Why do you fear wealth? Is it 
not, rightly used, a very great gift? God has given 
you much; why do you refuse to accept the best — 
the very best of all ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Joyce; “ you upset me 
very much when you talk as you do. Will you permit 
me to explain myself ? ” 

“ Of course ; I am here for the purpose,” said 
Miss Tabor. 

“ It is like this,” said Joyce, speaking slowly and 
with a certain deliberation. “ I am more or less im- 
pressed, since I came to this School, by the undue 
value placed upon money by most of the girls. I am 
received here with extreme kindness, with every 
possible show of courtesy and respect. Why is this. 
Miss Tabor, why? There is a girl in the School, 
Jeanne Gerusez is her name, and because she hap- 
pens not to be born in as high a position as I am, she 
is nowhere, she is nothing. How I choose to rank 
with girls like Jeanne Gerusez and Edmee Leroux. 
I want, while I am at School, to find the level of 
myself, independent of my wealth and my birth. I 
spoke to Madame la Comtesse on the subject; she 
said she would do what she could. She has doubtless 
spoken to you on the matter.” 


contng’s tower. 197 

u She has/’ replied Miss Tabor, “ and I have come 
from her now.” 

“ She has asked you to speak to me ? ” queried 
J oyce. 

“ She has.” 

“Before you begin to speak, dear Miss Tabor,” 
said Joyce, “ may I put, as far as I am able, my case 
before you ? There is no doubt whatever that I am 
already reputed in the School to be rich; and just 
because of that fact honours are thrust on me, even 
greatness — that which schoolgirls call greatness — is 
placed in my hands. I do not wish for honours so 
given, nor greatness so implied. I want, if it is pos- 
sible, to remain while at School, outside Coning’s 
Tower. I want, while I am at School, to he a poor 
English girl, not a rich English girl.” 

“ You have spoken,” said Miss Tabor, “ and now 
let me assure you that you do, in my opinion, ex- 
tremely wrong. In the first place, you cannot deny 
that God has given you a great deal more than 
wealth. He has given you charm, beauty and talent. 
If it were only mere wealth these girls desire, why 
should they turn from Jeanne Gerusez? For her 
father’s income is doubtless very nearly as large as 
that which you derive from Coning’s Tower. You 
deliberately hold as a secret which is perhaps shared 
by Hope Ashley — that I cannot say — that you are 
the owner of one of the proudest and most noble 
places in England. And do you think even for a 
moment, Joyce Selby, that in a great School like 


198 


coning’s tower. 


this, filled with inquisitive girls, you are likely to 
keep your secret. In an English school such might 
he barely possible; but not in a French School, my 
dear pupil, where the principal object of the demoi- 
selles is to hunt out secrets and fathom mysteries. 
At any moment of any day, a French girl may come 
into this room, may see this picture, and may recog- 
nise you, yes you , standing by your pony’s side. 
But enough of that. I would urge you, if I might 
venture to urge you, to keep your true position and 
make no fuss of any sort about it. Wear it humbly 
as a jewel of great price. Show to the demoiselles 
here, and the English girls here, that you are, yes, 
you are without fear and without reproach, and a 
maiden who knows how to spend her wealth 
worthily.” 

“ Then I am to confess to my riches ? ” said Joyce 
in a faltering voice. 

“ You are neither to confess nor to deny. You are 
to accept an established fact. You are rich, you are 
of noble birth, one of your ancestors, many years ago 
now, married a Spanish lady from whom you inherit 
your dark eyes and jet black hair, also your slightly 
dark complexion. In fact, Joyce, that touch of the 
sun about you which makes you so altogether fasci- 
nating. How, listen, my dear child, my beloved 
mother told me when I was quite a little child all 
about that sweet lady. She had no fortune except 
her looks ; she came to Coning’ s Tower as governess, 
and the heir to the property fell in love with her and 


coning’s tower. 


199 


married her. She was one of the sweetest women 
who ever lived, she was your great-grandmother. 
Prom that moment, the children of the race of Selby 
were dark instead of fair; but none were so dark or 
so brilliant in beauty as yourself. You owe this 
privilege to your great-grandmother. Now, I would 
beg of you, while at the School, to recall to mind what 
some very old people in the village still remember — 
her kindness, her sweetness, her dignity. How 
freely she gave of her wealth where it was needed; 
how careful she was not to waste her husband’s 
money. But do you think she would hide that which 
was so honourable and worthy? Par, indeed, would 
that have been from her, Joyce. You can do much, 
very much, with your wealth ; but do not lock it up. 
Use it, use it always in helping the cause of right; 
in doing the true and the best while you are at 
School. You wear a triple armour, my dear, fair 
maid of England — beauty, talent, wealth. Gird 
yourself with all three, don’t dispense with any if 
you would do well. Have I spoken in vain, my 
child ? Have I hurt your feelings ? ” 

“ No, no, no,” cried Joyce. She ran up to Miss 
Tabor and flung her arms round her neck. “ Somo- 
times the burden is a little too heavy,” she said, “ but 
I see plainly by your words, dear Miss Tabor, that 
I was only acting the coward’s part when I wanted 
to resign some of it. I will carry all — yes, all — and 
as bravely as I can.” She dashed some fresh tears 


200 coding’s tower. 

from her sparkling bright eyes and hastily left the 
room. 

“ God bless her,” thought the English teacher, 
“ she is most truly worthy, and I — I will help her 
all I can. God grant she does not get with the 
wrong set. But she must fight her own battles. How 
excited I was when I knew she was coming! Little 
Joyce Selby of Coning’ s Tower! Used I not to 
dream about that baby creature when I myself was a 
girl ! Yes, I must see more of her, and I must talk 
to Hope about her. She must be guarded, she must 
be guided, she must be helped. And yet there is 
nothing weak about Joyce — it is but to look into 
those glorious dark eyes of hers to see the truth of 
that. Joyce is strong with the strength of the truly 
brave ; but I will help her, yes, help her all I can.” 

Joyce herself on that occasion went slowly back 
to Hope, who was waiting for her in a certain niche 
which the girl had chosen for herself in one of the 
corridors at La Chapelle. It was, in short, that very 
niche where Jeanne Gerusez had hidden on the night 
of the fete — that niche where the image of the late 
Mother Superior used to stand with hands uplifted, 
blessing her children. J oyce had seen that very same 
niche occupied early on the morning of that very 
day; but now she scarcely cared to think about the 
very early morning, and the niche looked so different 
in the light of day that she absolutely failed to rec- 
ognise it. Hope was, of course, not promoted to a 
sitting-room of her own, and the bedrooms were only 


coning's tower. 


201 


used in the case of illness. Hope used to bring from 
her own room a couple of low chairs and a tiny 
table, and there she used to sit when the weather 
was cold, the light falling full on her sweet, noble 
face as she stitched at her various embroideries, or 
read her innumerable books. The niche was always 
emptied before night ; and as a rule the second chair 
during the day was occupied by someone, for Hope, 
notwithstanding all Muriel's machinations, still held 
sovereignty of right over wrong in the School. She 
raised her eyes now as Joyce approached. Joyce sat 
down near her and immediately began to whisper in 
her ear the whole account of her interview with Miss 
Tabor. She described the startling effect of the 
water colour sketch of her own home. She told Hope 
what she had hitherto kept as a secret, what her own 
wish and desire had been, namely, to appear in the 
School as other girls. Hope gave one of her brilliant 
and sudden smiles when Joyce said that. 

“ The idea is so like you, Joyce," she said. “ You 
were always that romantic sort of girl. But now tell 
me what Miss Tabor thought of it." 

Joyce proceeded to give a full account of her in- 
terview. She described her start when she saw the 
picture of her own home hanging in Miss Tabor's 
charming little sitting-room. She described fully 
how overcome she was by this peep at a semblance 
of the beloved old place. 

“ And I was there, I was there, Hope," she con- 
tinued, “ with my hand on Bob's neck. Darling 


202 


CONING S TOWEE. 


Bob! he is buried in the paddock now, with a little 
tombstone put up to him. I chose his epitaph: 
< Bob — my own pony, faithful and true/ It 
nearly cut me to the heart to see him standing in the 
foreground of the picture, Hope dear.” 

“ I am not surprised,” answered Hope, “ and is — 
is that all ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no, not all. My friend, Miss Tabor, 
used to live in the village near the Castle when she 
was a child; and she and her mother both loved 
Coning’ s Tower. And when her mother was dying 
the last thing her eyes rested on was the ancient 
home of my forefathers. Miss Tabor would not let 
me give it up or repudiate it; she spoke very strong 
words, Hope. Oh, Hope, was I right to yield to 
her?” 

“ You did yield to her ? ” replied Hope. 

“ Yes, I felt I had to ; was I right ? ” 

“ Of course you were right, you darling, silly, ro- 
mantic Joyce. How could you possibly act in any 
other way ? You are Miss Selby of Coning’ s Tower, 
and you cannot get away from the fact; and, oh — 
oh — I am proud of you, Joyce, for I love you, Joyce ; 
not one little bit because you are rich, but because 
you are yourself.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


ENTHRONED. 

The days sped on rapidly, as days will when every 
moment is full of interest and excitement. What- 
ever the private thoughts may have been that dwelt 
in the heart of Joyce Selby, she never uttered them 
to mortal. It is true that Juliette de Tournay took 
her aside on a certain afternoon, and read the various 
and minor rules of the Societe de Joie. She read 
them to the English girl from her little hook of 
cipher. She explained the cipher fully to Joyce, told 
her how extremely simple it was, and how easy it 
would be for her to acquire the knowledge of its use. 
She explained fully to Joyce that the cipher was the 
only means of communication employed by the mem- 
bers of the Societe . They could, when they were 
initiated, write to each other in cipher. All mes- 
sages from the Committee to the members must be 
communicated by means of the cipher. Joyce lis- 
tened, with her beautiful dark eyes fixed on Juli- 
ette’s face. It was by no means her way to speak 
impulsively, and on the present occasion she was 
silent and grave as a young judge. 

J uliette fully expected to have numerous questions 
203 


204 


ENTHRONED. 


put to her, but Joyce did not put one. When at last 
the cipher had been fully explained, the rules abso- 
lutely expounded, Juliette rose from her seat. Then 
Joyce rose also and spoke. 

“ When I was with you at your fete, I was given 
three weeks to decide whether I would refuse or ac- 
cept the great honour vouchsafed to me. There is a 
week of that time yet to run. Your next meeting 
will he on to-morrow week.” 

Juliette nodded, while her eager, black eyes grew 
very bright. 

“ I now want to say something,” continued J oyce, 
“ and I may as well say it to you, Juliette de Tour- 
nay, giving you full permission to repeat my words 
to the other members of the Committee. I was faith- 
fully promised three weeks for thought, for decision. 
During that time I was not to be in any way pressed. 
Nothing was to be said for the Society and nothing 
against it. That promise made to me has so far 
been carefully kept. I have not been in any way 
interfered with, and I thoroughly respect the reti- 
cence of those girls who have left me alone. I shall 
be present in the great front attic at midnight of to- 
morrow week; more than that I cannot at present 
say, but I think I should like to ask you, and I think 
perhaps you will be allowed to enlighten me, with 
regard to the duties of a Queen, should I indeed 
undertake that great honour. For listen, pray, Juli- 
ette, I am not asked to become a member of the 
Societe de Joie — that in itself would be something 


ENTHRONED. 


205 


— nor am I asked to become a member of the Com- 
mittee — which would be a yet greater thing — but I 
am asked — I, a total stranger ; an English girl — to be 
your Queen, your head. Juliette, I am told you 
were once a Queen of this same Societe ; will you en- 
lighten me a little with regard to my duties ? ” 

“ Gladly,” replied Juliette. 

She sat down once more and drew Joyce to seat 
herself by her side. 

“ As Queen, J oyce Selby, you make your own 
rules — you go your own way. With the single and 
sole exception of keeping our little society a secret, 
you can do as you think best and well.” 

“ I can, for instance, if I like, do good?” said 
Joyce very gravely. 

“ Mais, oui , certainement ” said Juliette, open- 
ing her big black eyes. 

“ I was anxious to be sure on that point,” said 
Joyce. “ You call your society la Societe de J oie x 
but is it a Society that gives joy to others as well as 
ourselves ? ” 

“ The Queen can do as she pleases,” replied Juli- 
ette in a puzzled tone; “ the Queen can do just as 
she pleases.” 

“ You are certain ? ” 

“ Positive,” replied J uliette. 

“ Thank you. I don’t think I want to hear any 
more. I’m greatly obliged.” 

Juliette left her companion with a puzzled feel- 
ing in her heart. She was extremely uncertain in 


206 


ENTHRONED. 


her own mind whether Joyce Selby was exactly the 
Queen they required. That evening she whispered 
her doubts both to Muriel and to the Comtesse de 
Mori. Both girls laughed at her. The Comtesse 
laid her hand lightly on her shoulder. 

“ You are a little oie , Juliette,” she said. “ The 
Queen is Queen, and has absolute authority, but 
think you not, silly child, there is such a thing as 
enfolding her in our meshes — in giving her a little 
rope, but not all the rope ? ” 

“ Believe me,” said Muriel, bursting in on the 
Comtesse’ s words, “ that Joyce is the very Queen we 
require. Her stately beauty, her rank, her wealth, 
will raise our Society to a pitch of excellence which 
it never before reached.” 

“ And you think — you think she will join, chere 
petite Juliette ? ” 

“ Yes, I think she will join,” said Juliette; “ but 
— but from a wrong motive. We seek for pleasure in 
our Society, for pleasure pure and simple. We seek 
for our own pleasure, comprenez-vous? She, that 
English maid, seeks for the pleasure of others. Is 
it wise to make her our Queen ? ” 

“ It is quite wise,” said Muriel. “ Leave it in 
the hands of those who know more than you do, lit- 
tle Juliette. But, ah, ma foi ! the fete for the initia- 
tion of our Queen must be a truly great and brilliant 
one.” 

During the remainder of the week, active prepara- 
tions went on in that secret attic where the rats were 


ENTHRONED. 


207 


supposed to scamper and where it was reported that 
the Mother Superior had been seen to glide. No 
expense was spared to make this fete something won- 
derful and exceptional. With the aid of Citoyenne 
Pelven a great roll of red drugget had been hired to 
cover the uneven boards and also to deaden sound if 
such were possible, but, as a matter of fact, sound 
was almost impossible, for the great front attic ran 
over a part of la Chapelle which was now seldom 
or never used — the girls, whatever their nationality ; 
the teachers of the staff, the Head Mistress, and 
even the servants all reposing in quite a different 
wing of the house. 

Still, the attic must be made worthy of the en- 
trancing ceremony which was to take place on the 
following Tuesday, soon after midnight. Frangoise 
found herself during these days most useful, for she 
was by nature a born decorator, and when she placed 
wreaths of artificial flowers, which she made with 
her own nimble fingers out of various pieces of col- 
oured paper, and hung them in great wreaths — rep- 
resenting roses, violets, lilies, flowers of all sorts and 
kinds — from the old rafters, causing them to sur- 
round the narrow windows, and above all things, to 
form a background to the old-fashioned high chair 
which was to be the Queen’s throne, the girls of the 
Committee began to consider that Muriel was right 
in admitting so useful a member into their midst. 

Since her initiation Frangoise Dupuis had been a 
changed character. She was lively and bright and 


208 


ENTHRONED. 


pleasant to everyone. The teachers much wondered 
what remarkable change had come over the hitherto 
disagreeable girl, but Frangoise was obliged to hold 
her tongue, and only the initiated knew why she was 
happy and why her face was wreathed in smiles — 
so much so that her plainness was no longer greatly 
commented on in the School. 

The Committee worked Frangoise hard and sent 
her constantly to Tourelle on messages, which she 
carefully and deftly carried without any fuss or 
noise. As to Citoyenne Pelven, she was in the 
seventh heaven of delight, for the days of prosperity 
were indeed hers, and her nephew Henri and she had 
delightful confabs together night after night when 
Henri rested on his way to the post-office before he 
returned to his rather humble home in one of the 
smallest streets of the little town. But neither Henri 
nor Citoyenne Pelven knew what had happened. 
Wise as they were, they did not guess that the cobra 
— ah, the cobra — had become a member of the So- 
ciete. They did know that that little viper e, Jeanne 
Gerusez, had gone over to Miss Hope Ashley; and 
they did not know that the more destructive snake, 
the cobra, had got into the very heart of the school, 
and was secretly and quietly biding her time. Neither 
did they know that pretty, pleasant little Edmee 
Leroux was no longer a member of the Societe. 

But behold ! the day arrived. The preparations 
were on a vast scale. The twelve girls put on their 
white dresses and waited for the signal to enter the 


ENTHRONED. 


209 


great front attic. On this occasion Joyce was awake. 
She had not, indeed, nndressed. She wore, by re- 
quest, her beautiful tea gown of crimson silk, and 
when Juliette on this occasion called for her, she was 
ready to accompany her. 

The place was brilliant with light; the Commit- 
tee wore their most becoming tea gowns. Muriel 
looked charming in pale blue ; the Comtesse in 
white. The other members of the Societe clustered 
eagerly round. There were double the number of 
sconces that there were on the previous occasion, 
and the long table, with its white cloth and crim- 
son centrepiece, groaned with dainties. 

Citoyenne Pelven had given herself up heart and 
soul to the making of the good things for this fete — 
this fete which was to be a fete indeed; the largest 
and greatest ever yet subscribed to by the members 
of the Society. 

Clever Frangoise had managed not only to make 
the beautiful artificial flowers, but had decked them 
with innumerable coloured beads, which gave them 
the appearance of flowers with the dew on them. In 
short, the whole effect of the long room was de- 
cidedly picturesque. 

When Juliette led Joyce forward, the entire as- 
sembly of the Society fell on their knees, extended 
their hands in token of delight and worship, and 
then the Comtesse de Mori came forward and took 
Joyce’s little hand. 

“ You will belong — you will belong,” she said, 


210 


ENTHRONED. 


speaking in her sweet and exquisite French. There 
was something in the scene — something in the look 
of sincere welcome in the Comtesse’s eyes ; some- 
thing in the imploring, beseeching faces of the other 
girls; something, perhaps, in the fairy-like beauty 
of the room — which carried Joyce, metaphorically, 
off her feet. 

“ Do you really wish me to be your Queen ? ” she 
exclaimed. 

Immediately the air became full of voices — soft, 
sweet, entreating voices. 

“ Yes — yes — oui, oui — certainemenb , certaine- 

ment ” rang like music through the room. 

“ Then I accept,” said Joyce. “ I will do — I will 
do my very best; but in my own way, remember, 
remember ; in my own way . 99 

•“ In your own way, most beloved Queen,” said 
Muriel in a tone of rapture. 

“ Enthrone our Queen, enthrone her ! Crown our 
Queen, crown her ! ” called voices from the further 
end of the room. 

Joyce was led by the hands of Muriel and the 
Comtesse to the foot of the chair which was called 
the throne. There were three steps up to the seat. 
Before she mounted these steps Muriel flung the 
ermine cape over her shoulders, and the Countess 
placed the crown of bay on her head. Immediately 
afterwards, and before she could utter a word, the 
twelve maidens in white, who formed the choir, came 
forward, surrounded the throne, and began that low, 



“Enthrone our Queen, enthrone her !” — Page 210, 

























































* 




















I 























** - V . 




• * 




>* 



















































































ENTHRONED. 


211 


sweet singing which had so captivated Joyce on a 
similar occasion three weeks ago. 

Their words were different now, but even more 
poignantly arresting, more exquisitely sweet. 

Gracious Queen, ascend your throne; 

Lovely Queen, accept your own — 

All of love that we can give, 

All of sunshine while you live. 

May your path be always bright, 

May you ever choose the right; 

From fear do we defend you. 

Love divine descend upon you! 

To you, beloved, do we cry; 

With you — with you we try — 

Oh, lead us in the right ways, 

Oh, keep us in the dark days! 

Teach to us the old story, 

The one that leads to glory. 

Ah, Queen, dear Queen, we adore you; 

Give us of your love, we implore you! 

With you we would be faithful and true; 

With you — yes, ever following you! 

Queen, oh, Queen! we adore you; 

Give us of your love, we implore you ! 


CHAPTER XVI. 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 

So far as this story has run, one would suppose 
that nothing whatever was thought of at La Chapelle 
but the Societe de Joie . This, however, was any- 
thing but the case. It was Madame la Comtesse de 
Tres ? motto that girls should work hard while they 
worked, and play happily with their whole hearts 
when they played. Although she knew nothing what- 
ever of the Societe de Joie , she was well aware that 
various secret societies, secret meetings, even secret 
refreshments, went on at the School. Of none of 
these did she take the least notice, looking back, like 
the wise woman she was, to her own early days at 
School; to her own endeavours to get the greatest 
fun out of this period which ought to be the happiest 
part of a girl’s existence. In consequence there 
never was a more popular Head Mistress — A Head 
Mistress who was wise enough to shut her eyes when 
it was well for her to do so; to take no notice of 
what went on, so to speak, under her very nose. But 
even Madame la Comtesse de Tres knew nothing 
whatsoever of the Societe de Joie . She knew noth- 
212 


QUEEN" ABSOLUTE. 


213 


ing about the celebrated midnight meetings, nothing 
of what went on in the great front attic. She truly 
and verily believed that the front attic in question 
was infested by rats, and she was not ashamed to 
confess that she was afraid of rats. It is true on one 
occasion she put a couple of cats into the said attic, 
but the cats came out after a couple of days, sleek, 
well nourished, and without, to all appearance, hav- 
ing exterminated a single rat. Madame, therefore, 
being very busy about other matters, let the rats re- 
main. As long as they did not invade the lower 
premises — the rooms where the girls slept, the teach- 
ers slept, and where she herself slept — it did not 
greatly matter. As to that other story which related 
to the late Mother Superior, it had of course reached 
her ears ; but she was far too wise a woman to take 
the least notice of it, or, in fact, to believe it. On 
one occasion a servant belonging to the establishment 
spoke of having certainly seen the great Mother Su- 
perior in the complete dress of her Order. She had 
seen her with her own eyes, so declared the maid, 
gliding down the stairs from the front attic. And 
she — the maid in question — had been taken with a 
strange trembling and an awful, most awful fear. 
She could hardly hold herself together, as she ex- 
pressed it; her knees trembled under her; she al- 
most swooned. Madame looked gravely at the timid 
girl, and said that as she felt these things so acutely 
it would perhaps be wiser for her to leave the estab- 
lishment — did Louise wish to leave ? 


2 14 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE 


This was the very last thing Louise wished or in- 
tended. 

“ Then, listen,” exclaimed Madame. “ The next 
time, the very next time either you or your fellow 
servants bring such stories to me — stories as absurd 
as they are false — I give you a month’s wages in 
full, and you leave, one and all of you, that day . 
Comprenez-vous, Louise ? ” 

Louise certainly did comprehend, and the story of 
the Mother Superior was not heard again in the 
School, nor did any of the servants, well cared for 
and looked after by their bountiful and kind mis- 
tress, take their departure. 

And now Joyce Selby was Queen; yes, unaccount- 
able as it seemed to herself, she was head of the 
Society. Joyce had been given most fully to under- 
stand that when she became Queen, when she took 
the vows of secrecy which were all that were ex- 
pected of her, she was also an absolute monarch — 
she could do what she willed and as she pleased. 
Joyce Selby had therefore very lofty ideas with re- 
gard to her mission. She began by making friends 
with all the girls who belonged to the Societe de 
Joie. She got them to impart to her their secrets — 
their small cares, their little troubles. They were 
requested by Joyce, looking fully at them with her 
beautiful eyes as she spoke, to keep nothing back, 
and they did keep nothing back. They told Joyce 
everything with regard to their likes and their dis- 
likes. For instance, there was a murmur amongst 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


215 


the Societe — a murmur, sure but firm, that they 
sorely, most sorely, missed pleasant, bright, good- 
humoured Edmee Leroux, and that they heartily de- 
tested Fran^oise Dupuis. At odd moments, during 
hurried times, they whispered of these things to 
their Queen. Their Queen was silent, but she was 
also sympathetic, and she looked very grave. She 
contrived, before she had been a month Queen of 
the Society, to put into the heads of the girls, those 
girls who did not exactly belong to the Committee, 
the stern and grave fact that there was something 
more in life than mere pleasure. The Society must 
of course have its fun and its laughter, its secret 
faiths, even its midnight revels, but it must also at- 
tend — oh, and Joyce looked very earnest as she said 
these words — it must also attend to those main 
things which brought them to the School. The girls 
must learn ; the girls must please their teachers ; the 
girls must aspire ; they must, in short, grow up. Life 
was not meant only for fun; life was assuredly 
meant for work. The ideas of the new Queen were 
absolutely new to her subjects. They must belong 
to the Societe but they must also work in the cause 
of the Societe day by day and hour by hour. They 
must acquit themselves, as Joyce said, like men — 
they must be strong! Joyce was very great on the 
subject of strength. She said over and over again 
that the poorest creature on earth was a weak 
woman ; but that, on the other hand, the noblest was 
a strong, determined, brave one. She would have all 


216 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


her subjects strong, determined and brave. Her in- 
fluence had a great effect, and lessons were never so 
well learnt in class rooms, and the teachers had never 
before been so pleased with those demoiselles who 
had hitherto been somewhat slack and feeble, who in 
the excitement of mirth had forgotten the other side 
of the old proverb that play without work makes 
Jack a dull boy — that, in short, work and play must 
go together if these beautiful demoiselles of France 
were to do anything by and by. The young Queen 
was very earnest when she spoke to her disciples, 
and her dark Spanish eyes had a way of flashing 
which impressed them most deeply. But Joyce by 
no means considered her mission at an end when 
she had impelled her young subjects to work because 
it was right to work. She wanted the Societe de Joie 
not to be merely a joy to themselves, but a joy to 
others in the school. There came a certain day when 
Christmas was long, long past; and when the great 
festival of Mi Careme was close at hand. Most of 
the girls went home for Mi Careme. Those who 
could not had complete holidays. Frangoise was to 
visit her father and her stepmother in Paris, and 
looked forward with great delight to this time of re- 
joicing. She had gotten over her hatred of la belle 
mere and anticipated a delightful time in Paris. 

Mi Careme came on this occasion early in April, 
and it was on the day before Frangoise was to leave 
the school for Paris that the Queen of the Societe 
de Joie sent a request in cipher for the presence of 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


217 


Muriel St. John, the Comtesse de Mori, and other 
members of the Committee. The girls felt some sur- 
prise at her request; but was she not their Queen? 
Had she not already paid ten pounds towards the 
needs of the Societe? As Joyce gave the money she 
had said very quietly and simply: 

“ The great Lord Almighty has given me wealth. 
When first I came to the school, I wished to belong 
to the poor girls, here; this was my earnest wish — 
then one whom I must not name said to me that my 
intention was unworthy. She showed me the error 
of my ways ; she explained that I ought to spend my 
money worthily.” 

The girls who listened did not quite understand 
what Joyce meant; but on the occasion when she re- 
quested the assembling of the Committee she ex- 
plained herself more fully. 

She stood before her young friends and spoke with 
great earnestness. 

“Do we spend our money worthily?” she asked. 
“We use a great deal of money — on what? On 
sweetmeats, chocolates, sirops — ah! but is it wise, is 
it necessary ? ” 

Muriel felt her own pretty eyes flash fire. The 
Comtesse and some other girls who were near were 
quite silent. After a minute’s pause Muriel said : 

“ You do not look far enough ahead, Queen. The 
chocolates, cakes and tartlets that you despise form 
the livelihood of one of the best-natured women in 
Tourelle.” 


218 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


Joyce found herself blushing. 

“ I did not know,” she said, in her sweet, low 
woice. “ I beg of you to forgive me for my want of 
understanding. Now I just simply want to add that 
when money is wanted for any rightful purpose it is 
but for our Committee to demand, and for me, your 
Queen, to accede to your request” 

This very earnest speech of Joyce’s was made, as 
was said, the day before the visit of Frangoise Du- 
puis to Paris to see her father and her stepmother. 
The Queen’s words were repeated to Frangoise by 
Muriel, and Frangoise looked excited, more than ex- 
cited. She looked like one who was making up her 
mind to a strong and extraordinary step. 

“ What are you thinking of, little Frangoise ? ” 
enquired Muriel. 

“ Ah, but cherie ” replied Frangoise, “ my 
thoughts surely are my own. I have been very 
Pappy indeed since you’ve admitted me to your So- 
ciety.” 

“ I will tell you something, Frangoise,” replied 
Muriel. “ I mean at one of our next meetings — our 
next finance meeting, I mean — to propose that you 
come on the Committee. Then you will have a real 
finger in the pie.” 

“ Ah, but is that possible ? ” cried Frangoise, her 
eyes filling with delight. 

“ Leave it to me,” said Muriel. “ But as a re- 
ward for this great indulgence, which is seldom or 
never granted so soon, will you whisper to me, 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


219 > 


Frangoise, what you really, from the bottom of your 
heart, think of our Queen, Joyce Selby ?” 

“ D° you want me to tell you the exact truth ? ” 
enquired Frangoise. 

"• Certainement. What but the truth would he of 
any value ? ” 

“ Well, then, I will speak, trusting to your honour, 
Muriel, to keep my words a secret. I — I like not 
your Queen.” 

" Our Queen, naughty,” interrupted Muriel, pat- 
ting her friend lightly on her thin arm. “ Our 
Queen, remember; yours as much as mine.” 

“ Yes, yes,” replied Frangoise, “ but it was you 
and the Comtesse who had her enthroned. It was 
you and the Comtesse who managed the whole af- 
fair.” 

“ It was wise and necessary,” replied Muriel, 
“ and I do not go into particulars with you, little 
Frangoise.” 

“ Oh, I grant the necessity,” replied Frangoise, 
shrugging her spare shoulders in truly French fash- 
ion. “ But what I say is this : I comprehend more 
than you think I comprehend. I know more than 
you think I know. I admit, no one admits more 
fully, that the Queen is rich — ah! what will not 
money achieve; that the Queen is of noble birth. 
Have I not seen with my own eyes a water-colour 
sketch of her place in Warwickshire which hangs in 
Miss Tabor’s sitting-room ? It is called 1 Coning’ s 
Towers/ or ‘ Coning’s Towers Castle/ or some such. 


220 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


name. She is also very, very beautiful. She has a 
strong and taking way with her, and she is clever, 
very clever; nevertheless — ” 

There was a dead silence. Frangoise looked full 
at Muriel; Muriel looked fully back at Frangoise. 

“ What does nevertheless mean, little maiden from 
Paris ? ” she remarked, after the pause of silence 
had become irksome. 

“It means this,” said Frangoise. “Joyce Selby 
has many gifts, but she is not suited to be the Queen 
of Joy and Beauty . She aims at the stars, and we 
do not want the stars.” 

“ I should think not,” replied Muriel, with an im- 
patient shrug. 

“ You will see,” continued Frangoise in a tone of 
strong excitement, “ you will perceive that I am 
right. The Queen is great, but she is not our Queen. 
Already she is working mischief in our midst; al- 
ready she is undermining our time-honoured institu- 
tions. Tell me one thing, Muriel, beloved. Must 
the Queen, elected Queen by the whole Society, re- 
main our Queen for a whole year ? ” 

“ Mais , certainement said Muriel, “ unless in- 
deed she does — what Joyce could not do — that is, 
something mean, low and underbred; something de- 
ceitful. In fact, even to think of such a thing in 
connection with Joyce is impossible — she is our 
Queen for a year, and you must bear it, Frangoise, 
and learn to respect one who is so worthy of re- 
spect.” 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


221 


“ Mais oui , mais oui,” said Frangoise. She rose 
as she spoke; there was an ugly expression on her 
face. 

That afternoon the Committee met in full. The 
whole Committee were present, including, of course* 
the usual members, namely — Muriel and the Com- 
tesse, Marguerite de Marni, Juliette de Toumay, 
the Signorina Gemma Ravella, and the Signorina 
Imelda Olivetta,. There were others besides, and 
seated quietly on her high throne was the Queen. 
She was always present on these occasions, hut she 
did not, as a rule, take part in them. The business 
of the Committee was not her business. The usual 
matters were attended to swiftly and deftly, and 
the girls were looking longingly out of the windows 
of the great attic, anxious to get out and enjoy them- 
selves — these Committee meetings were always dull, 
so they thought. But as they were about to rise, in 
order to leave the attic, Muriel St. John stood up 
and arrested their wandering attention. 

“ You have sent for us, Queen,” she began — “ I 
do not quite know why — but I have a proposal to 
make to the Committee. The number of our Com- 
mittee is one short since Edmee Leroux left us. It 
is a pity to bo short in numbers, for casting votes on 
different important questions are from time to time 
required, and one less member on our Committee 
may, and undoubtedly will, often turn the scale. I 
propose, therefore, that as Edmee left us for no ade- 
quate reason, but for the singularly inadequate rea- 


222 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


son that we wished to make Frangoise Dupuis a 
member of the Society, I propose, therefore, mes- 
demoiselles, that, as we have found during the last 
few months — and indeed ever since she joined us — 
the services of Frangoise most useful to the Society, 
I propose that we make her a member of the Com- 
mittee. I know it is a little soon, but Frangoise is 
a. clever and remarkable girl. Think how tremen- 
dously she helped us during the week before our 
Queen was enthroned.” Here all the girls turned 
and bowed to J oyce. “ I propose, therefore, that we 
make her a member, for I consider that she is 
worthy. She will help us, and we want help.” 

Astonished looks pervaded the faces of most of 
the Committee, but no one, not even the Comtesse, 
spoke. Suddenly, however, Joyce Selby rose from 
her throne, came down the three steps, and stood 
before the girls. 

“ It is true, is it not,” she said, “ that I, as your 
Queen, have the casting vote ? ” 

“ Certainement , mais certainement , beloved 
Queen,” cried Juliette de Tournay, while several 
other voices echoed her words. 

4 “ That being the case,” said Joyce, speaking very 
quietly and with the dignity which it was impossible 
to surpass, “ I do not wish Frangoise Dupuis to 
come on the Committee. I am sorry to go against 
you, Muriel, but my resolve is firmly fixed.” 

Muriel felt her colour changing from white to red. 
She felt an angry leap of hatred rising up in her 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


223 


heart. But the other girls, including the Comtesse, 
clapped hands vehemently and applauded. 

“ You are right, Queen, you are right,” they said. 

Joyce sat down again quite quietly, and a minute 
or two later the Committee dispersed; the old-fash- 
ioned chair which served as throne was pushed into 
the deep cupboard which also contained the dress 
of the Mother Superior. Muriel seized the key, and 
the girls dispersed over the grounds. 

It goes without saying, that Muriel repeated the 
words of Joyce Selby to Frangoise Dupuis, and that 
Frangoise, in consequence, went up to Paris with a 
very ugly feeling against the Queen deep in her 
heart. It was quite true that she had never liked 
her. How could darkness associate with light ? How 
could meanness associate with nobility? But Fran- 
goise was clever, and she had plenty of time to think. 
She was now resolved as firmly as girl could be to 
get Joyce deposed, to get her to lay down her sceptre 
and put aside her crown. In short, Joyce was to be 
publicly disgraced in the eyes of all the members of 
the Societe. How this was to be accomplished Fran- 
goise had not yet discovered; but she trusted much 
to her wits to aid her. Had her wits ever failed her 
yet? When, however, Muriel told her what Joyce 
had said, she made no audible remark of any sort. 
There were times when she felt wise enough to know 
that silence was best. It was during Mi Careme, 
when the School kept universal holiday, and when. 
Frangoise was still in Paris, that the Queen sent a 


224 


QUEEN" ABSOLUTE. 


cipher to the different members of the Committee, 
asking them to meet her at five o’clock in the old 
attic. It was now quite light at five o’clock, and 
there was no need of any artificial light. The girls 
assembled, all more or less excited, all more or less 
pleased to meet their Queen, whom they dearly loved. 
Yes, everyone in the School loved Joyce with the 
exception of Muriel and Frangoise. Joyce appeared 
on this occasion with a fresh young dignity about 
her which was at once very charming, and very ar- 
resting. She stepped lightly on to her throne and, 
bending forward, addressed the different girls who 
flocked round her. 

“ I have now been your Queen,” she said, “ for 
over five months. I have, during that time, got to 
know you — some of you very well indeed, some of 
you but a little. Be that as it may, however, I do 
know you, and I will say from the bottom of my 
heart, that I — I love you.” 

There came a little murmur of enthusiastic ap- 
plause. 

“ I have, therefore,” continued J oyce, speaking in 
her extremely pretty French, “ a proposal to make 
to you, clneres demoiselles . We have, during the past, 
done what we could for the happiness and well-being 
of ourselves. I propose now that we do something — 
something big and great, for the happiness of — of 
others. The very name of our Society — the Societe 
de Joie — ought surely not only to mean the well- 
being of ourselves and those who belong to us. In 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


225 


my opinion, cheres demoiselles , it ought to mean far 
more, something far greater. It ought to be a So- 
ciety — secretive, if you like, although I see no cause 
for the secrecy; hut with that I do not interfere; 
nevertheless it ought to he a Society to promote the 
happiness of the entire School of La Chapelle. It 
ought even to extend to our mistresses; to our be- 
loved Head Mistress, La Comtesse de Tres. It ought 
to be a sort of beam of sunshine running through 
the entire School, pervading it at all times and in 
all places. We ought not to consider our own joy at 
all; hut we ought, with our eyes steadfast, pure, 
raised high to the great Almighty God, to make this 
Society a secret blessing to the School. I propose, 
therefore, cheres demoiselles, that we do this : I pro- 
pose that we commence our next programme by in- 
viting every member of the School, including the staff 
of teachers and our beloved head mistress, to a soiree 
which we will prepare for them under the trees to- 
wards evening in the merry month of June. It is now 
early in April. The soiree will be given by the 
members of the Societe de Joie, only the name of 
our Society must, of course, be suppressed. I, per- 
sonally, am willing to bear the expense of this soiree, 
to get Citoyenne Pelven to make her very best cakes 
and tartlets and sirops for the occasion. I mean also 
to plan out such a programme as was never seen or 
even thought of before in the body of this great 
School. I want every member of the Society, with 
the exception of myself, and Muriel St. John, and 


226 


QUEEN - ABSOLUTE. 


the Comtesse de Mori, and four other girls whose 
names I will mention presently, to appear as fairies, 
with fairy lights on their heads. I mean these fai- 
ries to flit over the grass and the lawns, and I intend 
to invite Madame, our beloved Madame, to share in 
our festival. The introduction of the fairies will 
be followed by a great dance, held on the lawn, in 
which all will, I hope, presently join; and I further 
propose that our choir should sing a special song 
which I will help them to compose for the occasion, 
in which not I, who am, after all, but slight and un- 
worthy, but Madame la Comtesse de Tres, Fraulein 
Schwann, Miss Tabor, Mile. Armor, and other teach- 
ers in the School shall be assured of our undying 
love and respect. Think you not it is a good idea, 
cheres demoiselles? ” 

“ It is an excellent idea,” said the Comtesse. 

“ It is beautiful, and just like you, Queen,” cried 
Juliette. 

“ Yes, it is a good idea,” said Muriel, but her 
voice was less enthusiastic than those of the others. 

“ Then we will carry it — we will consider that it 
shall take place,” cried the Queen. “ Understand 
that all expense falls upon me. We will erect a 
marquee in the grounds, and tents will also be re- 
quired. The question of money need not be con- 
sidered. But now, I’ve something more to say. The 
summer will soon be upon us. We have hitherto en- 
joyed ourselves for our own sakes. Now for the 
first time we propose that on the 21st of June, the 


QUEEI* ABSOLUTE. 


227 


longest day, we stretch out our sympathies and touch 
others, revealing nothing, but yet giving joy — great 
joy and pleasure to others. But we must not stop 
there, mesdemoiselles ; there are, I happen to know, 
in the crowded and hot town of Tourelle, hungry 
little boys and girls. I have heard of them through 
Henri and through Citoyenne Pelven — little boys 
and girls who would delight in what we think little 
or nothing of. I propose, therefore, that our next 
fete, with the consent, of course, of the Comtesse, 
should be given to the poor and hungry children of 
Tourelle. Thus we still further widen our sym- 
pathies. The Societe de Joie will do a great and a 
noble work.” 

There was a dead silence after Joyce’s last re- 
marks. Then Muriel said in a discontented tone : 

“ You forget, Queen, that by entertaining these 
little, dirty beggars, you altogether break through 
the main object of the Societe de Joie ” 

“ And what is the main object?” asked Joyce, 
looking at Muriel with her steady, bright eyes. 

“ Why, the name tells you that,” exclaimed Mu- 
riel. “ It is to give ourselves joy.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Joyce, “and have you never 
thought, Muriel St. John, that by promoting the joy 
of others you give to yourself — yes to yourself, joy 
the most exquisite ? ‘ It is more blessed to give than 
to receive. 9 That quaint text holds good to the pres- 
ent day. But remember,” she added, and she drew 
Berself up to her full and stately height, “ I hold you 


228 


QUEEN ABSOLUTE. 


to your promises. I am your Queen , and you are 
under a vow to obey me. I ask for these two fetes y 
one for all the members of the School, the other for 
the little, poor and hungry children of Tourelle, and 
I insist — yes, I insist upon being obeyed.” 

There was a very faint addition of colour in the 
young Queen’s cheeks. A momentary quiet arrested 
the speech of every girl belonging to the Committee. 
Then there came a clamour of voices, of enthusiasm 
so high, so great, that it could not for a single mo- 
ment be repressed. 

(( Queen, Queen, we adore you ; 

Give us of your love, we implore you ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


LA COBRA'S LETTER. 

On that same evening, Muriel St. John and La 
Oomtesse Caterina were pacing slowly up and down 
a walk which was called the “ Beech Walk,” and 
which formed part of the grounds of La Chapelle. 
The Comtesse was unusually silent. Muriel looked 
at her two or three times, and with each glance there 
was a growing impatience in her face. At last, un- 
able to hear herself any longer, she spoke. 

“Well,” she said, “well, Caterina?” 

“ Yes, Muriel,” replied Caterina, turning her 
grave eyes and fixing them on the other girl's face. 

“ You are,” said Muriel, “ you are for her , of 
course ? ” 

“ Can you doubt it ? ” replied Caterina. “ She is 
very noble. We have never had a Queen like her 
before. She has opened our eyes.” 

“ Unpleasantly,” remarked Muriel. 

“ Ho, not unpleasantly,” answered Caterina. “ I 
think we ought to be very thankful. Reflect for 
yourself, Muriel, what silly, selfish demoiselles we 
were in the past. We thought only of ourselves and 
229 


230 


LA COBRA’S LETTER. 


our own — our own pleasure. She has opened our 
eyes; may Heaven bless her.” 

“ I don’t want my eyes to be opened,” said Muriel. 

Caterina very slightly squeezed the arm of her 
friend and companion. 

“ The process is often a little painful, dear Mu- 
riel,” she said, “ but it is good for us, yes, very good 
for us. We have lived for ourselves, absolutely and 
entirely for our own selfish selves. She has shown 
us the truth. Ho one could show it more gently, 
more quietly, with greater dignity. I for one say, 
1 God bless our Queen ’ ; and I think, Muriel, most 
of the girls who belong to the Committee will agree 
with me.” 

“ Most, but not all,” replied Muriel, a kind of 
choke rising into her throat. “ There is, for in- 
stance, myself. I totally and completely disagree 
with her. There are others who belong to the Com- 
mittee who I know join me in my feelings. You 
and I were the heads of the Committee, Caterina; 
do you really and truly intend to desert me now ? ” 

“ I absolutely and fully intend to follow the 
Queen,” said Caterina. 

“ Mats, Caterina, chere amie, do but listen. Was 
it fair of her, was it right of her, was it noble of 
her, to stand up against us all, against us who know , 
and forbid poor little Franqoise Dupuis to become 
a member of the Committee. Granted, even granted 
that she was right to-day; was she right that other 
day, when she forbade in the face of the Committee 


LA COBRA’S LETTER. 


231 


our admitting Frangoise as a member? Do you 
think that was kind or generous ? ” 

“ There was no question of kindness or generos- 
ity,” said Caterina. “ Frangoise was exceedingly 
unsuited to become a member of the Committee. To 
admit her would be to break one of our most strin- 
gent rules. Our laws, firm as the laws of the Medes 
and Persians, are that no girl should be elected as 
a member of the Committee who has not served her 
time for at least a year as a member of la Societe de 
Joie. Frangoise became a member of our Society 
not six months ago. The Queen was right to adhere 
to her prerogative. Why, Muriel, should an excep- 
tion be made in her favour? What would many 
other girls belonging to the Society think if she, for 
no apparent reason, was put over their heads ? ” 

“ Only that I promised her,” said Muriel in a low 
voice. “ Is my promise to go for nothing ? ” 

“ You did wrong to make the promise, dear Mu- 
riel; and the Queen was absolutely right to see that 
jour wish was not carried into execution. On that 
occasion she acted on her prerogative. It required 
some bravery, which she possesses; it required some 
courage, which is hers; it required strength, for you 
are not an easy person to oppose, Muriel St. John.” 

“ Well, well, let that pass,” exclaimed Muriel. 
X( I see you are altogether for J oyce Selby. I am 
sorry now that we made her our Queen. I should 
have taken the advice of those wiser than myself, but 
I was pig-headed and silly, and now I suffer.” 


232 


LA COBRA’S LETTER. 


“ There is no occasion for you to suffer, dear 
Muriel. We have secured, thank Heaven! a most 
lofty-minded and noble young Queen. I say noth- 
ing whatever now with regard to her wealth ; I only 
speak of her character. She is without fear and 
without reproach; she wishes to lead us into loftier 
and higher ways. For my part I shall follow her; 
yes, to the hitter end.” 

“ To the bitter end ? ” exclaimed Muriel in a 
strangled sort of voice. “ Would you, for instance, 
give me up for her ? ” 

“ 1ST o, no, don’t be so silly. Hitherto we have al- 
lowed our Queen absolute authority, which she has 
never executed. She has simply bowed to the de- 
crees of the Committee. How at last we have got 
a Queen who thinks for herself and acts for herself. 
We cannot possibly interfere with her, and we will 
not. She takes the lead, the Committee follow, the 
members follow. For the very first time, the Societe 
de J oie has got a head worthy of it. I, for my part, 
am very proud of our Queen.” 

“ Ah, well,” exclaimed Muriel, “ then I see what 
lies before us. You have considerable power, not 
only in the School but in the Society. Our dear lit- 
tle Society will be turned by your means and by 
the means of Joyce Selby into a merely philan- 
thropic institution. We shall feed the hungry and 
clothe the naked. Ah, bah! I hate that sort of 
thing! I did not come to School for that sort of 
thing.” 


LA COBRA 7 S LETTER. 


233 ; 


Caterina made no response, and Muriel, giving, 
her a second and very keen glance, presently left her 
side to seek out the companionship of a more con- 
genial spirit. Frangoise would be returning to 
School on the following morning, and Muriel hoped 
a good deal from Frangoise and her wit. She knew 
that Frangoise cordially hated Joyce Selby; she had 
but to rouse that hatred a little further, to add a 
little more fuel to that fire, and Frangoise would do 
what Muriel had already expressed under her 
breath — the dirty work of the Society. 

Meanwhile Caterina went slowly and thoughtfully, 
with that young dignity which belonged to her and 
to her race, to a certain portion of the grounds where 
Hope Ashley and J oyce Selby were walking together. 
She had no wish to interrupt the friends, and she 
knew perfectly well that Joyce would keep her vow 
of secrecy. But now to her astonishment and pleas- 
ure Joyce stopped in her walk, stretched back her 
hand, and by a subtle sort of invitation drew Cater- 
ina’s own hand through her arm. 

“ Three are not always trumpery,” she said in her 
low, sweet tones. “ Caterina, I understand from 
Hope that at one time you and she were great, very 
great friends. Hope is the dearest, noblest girl I 
know. Why, Comtesse, have you given her up ? ” 

Caterina felt her eyes fill with tears. Hope looked 
at her with her own peculiarly steady glance; then 
she also held out her hand, and the next moment 
Caterina found herself walking between Hope and 


LA COBBA’S LETTER. 


" 234 : 

Joyce , rather silent, rather overcome, but filled with 
a wonderful new joy. For Hope, without a word, 
had let bygones be bygones; had addressed Caterina 
in the old tone; had spoken to her on the old sweet 
subjects; and Muriel, in the distance, watched the 
three as they paced up and down. 

“ J oyce — J oyce is unworthy,” she said to herself. 
“ I’ll fathom her wickedness yet ; I’ll dethrone her 
yet. There is no doubt whatever that Joyce, Cater- 
ina and Hope are talking against me; Joyce and 
Caterina are revealing the secrets of our Society. 
Hope was asked to join; she would not join; now 
she is being told our gravest, most important secrets. 
Ah, well, it is easy to dethrone Joyce if this is 
proved; and Caterina can go, too — Caterina, whom 
I loved, and took from Hope. But such treachery 
-on the part of Joyce cannot, must not be overlooked. 
How impatient I am for to-morrow! How I long 
for to-morrow to arrive, in order to pour my troubles 
into the ears of Frangoise.” 

“ Thou art very silent, cherie ” exclaimed Juliette 
de Tournay. “ What ails thee ? Why dost thou not 
speak ? ” 

“ Hark ! Look ! Watch ! ” cried Muriel. 

At that moment Jeanne Gerusez ran up to the 
group of three, said something to Hope, who smiled, 
nodded, and pressed her hand. Jeanne Gerusez set 
off running to a distant part of the grounds. Her 
face was alight with tender smiles; the whole ex- 
pression of that little face had completely altered 


LA cobra’s letter. 


235 


since Hope had taken her up. She went in the di- 
rection of the plantation. A pinched-looking, ragged 
hoy was standing at the other side. Jeanne gave 
him an eager message and pressed four sous into his 
little, dirty palm. 

“ Eat well and sleep well to-night,” she said : 
“ and understand that all is for the best.” Jacques 
looked at the small coins as though they were gold. 
A smile lit up his pinched face; the next moment 
he had vanished from view. 

It was impossible for Muriel — strain her eyes as 
she would — to observe what Jeanne Gerusez had 
done. But she had a suspicion which caused her 
heart to beat violently. Jeanne had run very fast 
in the direction of the old summerhouse, had even 
passed beyond it and was lost to view. Was it pos- 
sible that Jeanne Gerusez had now become a friend 
of Citoyenne Pelven? Was it possible that the 
grave secrets of the great Society were becoming 
known, not only in the School, hut beyond the 
School ? Surely for what other purpose had J eanne 
rushed beyond the summerhouse, at the hack of 
which Citoyenne Pelven was apt to stand ? 

“ What is the matter with you, Muriel ? ” repeated 
Juliette. 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing,” said Muriel, in a vexed 
tone. “ Why should people suppose when I’m a lit- 
tle silent that there is something the matter with me. 
I say non , I say non , a thousand times. But, as we 
are together, I should just like to ask you, Juliette, 


236 


LA COBRA’S LETTER. 


what you thought of our Queen’s conduct and our 
Queen’s suggestion this afternoon ? ” 

“ Ah, but they were truly magnifique ” exclaimed 
Juliette. “ Did she not open our eyes and scorch us 
a little hit, and then — then — show us the right way ? 
Ah, hut she was superb, was our gracious Queen! 
I would follow her — I would follow her to the 
death.” 

“ Ah,” said Muriel, speaking very slowly, “ her 
idea was certainly very good. I wonder how she will 
carry it out, Juliette, and also keep our Society a 
profound secret. For a profound secret it must be 
kept if she is to continue to be our Queen.” 

“ If she is to continue?” cried Juliette, raising 
her soft, black eyes with a look of horror. “ What 
can you mean, Muriel by i if ’ ? Do you indeed 
think that one like Joyce would break her vow? 
Leave it to her to manage and, believe me, all will 
be well.” 

“ You think so?” said Muriel, in a tone of sar- 
casm. 

“ Think so ? ” replied the enthusiastic French girl. 
“ Do I not know it ? There never was a queen of 
our Societe loved like her. We will all — all — follow 
her wherever she asks us to go.” 

“ You think so?” said Muriel. “Well, I’ve a 
headache, and am going in. I will leave you, Juli- 
ette, to your pleasant reflections.” 

Muriel strolled towards the house, which she en- 
tered. 


LA COBRA’S LETTER. 


237 


The next day, at a comparatively early hour, 
Frangoise Dupuis returned. As soon as possible 
Muriel took her into her confidence, and related with 
fervour and a vast amount of exaggeration what had 
taken place at the last meeting of the Committee. 
The Queen’s plans, the Queen’s fixed determination, 
were largely commented on, and were related in 
such a manner that the Queen appeared to the watch- 
ing eyes and listening ears of Frangoise Dupuis to 
he a monster in human flesh. 

“ Ah, you poor Muriel ! ” exclaimed Frangoise. 

“ I feel very shaken and upset,” said Muriel. 

“You want my help, nest-ce pas?” exclaimed 
Frangoise. 

“ Ah,” replied Muriel, “ but you can do nothing.” 

“ Leave the matter in my hands, and do not ask 
a single word,” exclaimed Frangoise. 

“ But Frangoise, dear Frangoise, you must be very 
careful. The Queen has the right to rule us; the 
Queen has the right to command; and we, by our 
own rules, are forced to obey. This is the very first 
Queen who has ever attempted to go against the 
Committee; but this Queen has done so, and the 
dreadful, dreadful thing is this, Frangoise — that 
without any exception, unless I mention my poor, 
little, humble self, there is not a demoiselle belong- 
ing to the Societe de Joie who would not go to the 
world’s end for Queen Joyce Selby, so great is her 
influence over them, so completely has she turned 
their heads.” 


238 


LA COBKA^ LETTER. 


Frangoise was quite silent for a moment. Muriel 
watched her eagerly. She had felt sore enough when 
the news had been brought to her by the artful Mu- 
riel that she, Frangoise, was not to come on the Com- 
mittee because, forsooth, the Queen did not wish it. 
But now — hut now — the weapons of revenge seemed 
to be placed in her hands. 

“ I will think ; I will think hard,” she said, after 
a pause. “ Believe me, I like not your Queen. To 
me she is of all people the most intolerable. I have 
spoken about her to my stepmother, of course with- 
out revealing any secrets. And my stepmother — 
ah, but I like my stepmother; I was a silly girl to 
weep and wail when my father married again. He 
did right, and I have now a friend at home whom 
I never had before — she would, if necessary, help 
me in a case so important as this. We of the Societe 
de Joie must dethrone the Queen. Leave it to me, 
I beseech of you, chere Muriel. I will tell you more 
with regard to my plans to-morrow, when I have 
thought them out a little.” 

Muriel felt slightly annoyed. There was a certain 
something with regard to Frangoise which pleased 
and at the same time frightened Muriel. She was 
not, as she expressed it to herself, in her own set. 
Her own set belonged to such girls as Juliette de 
Tournay, Marguerite de Marni, Comtesse Caterina, 
Hope Ashley, Joyce Selby. What set did the daugh- 
ter of the French avocat call her own? Muriel felt 


la cobra’s letter. 23# 

a degree of fear as the girl slowly left her and 
walked into the house. 

“ She has a wicked face,” thought Muriel. “Why 
have I put myself in her power? Well, well, it is 
too late now, and she may help me in the dethroning 
of the Queen. But I must be very, very careful. I 
must not give myself away. If blame falls, the 
blame must fall on her, not on me. MY Societe d& 
Joie — my delightful, refreshing, pleasant Societe f 
Must one strange English girl upset everything, and 
must a common little French plebeian seek to ruin 
her, and perhaps me also, into the bargain ? But I 
care not — I care not. Queen Joyce shall not have 
her way.” 

During the rest of that evening, Frangoise Dupuis, 
made herself as agreeable as she could to the differ- 
ent girls of the School. She had in a great measure 
lost her shyness. Her stepmother had completely 
dressed her in clothes which suited her. She was at 
once piquante , although ugly; at once arresting, al- 
though disagreeable. She had also the gift of tell- 
ing a story in a very racy way. Paris was a fruit- 
ful theme of conversation, and Frangoise, having 
spent Mi Careme in Paris, was able to give vivid 
and alas! false accounts of her lovely time; of her 
father’s magnificent new house; of her charming 
belle mere ; and of all the different people, both men 
and women, whom she had met. She told her stories 
with much verve and gusto, and the girls hung on 
her words and wondered why they had ever dis- 


•240 


LA COBRA’S LETTER. 


liked her. Amongst those girls who listened and 
watched and commented were several members of 
the Societe de Joie , as well as two or three of the 
Committee. Frangoise’s small, light blue eyes, so 
closely placed together, revealing the poverty of her 
soul if not of her mind, were suddenly arrested by 
the keen, direct glance of Juliette de Tournay. Also 
of that beautiful Italian girl, Signorina Imelda Oli- 
vetta. By and by the girls dispersed to their differ- 
ent tasks, for School was now in full work ; hut, when 
this happened, Juliette de Tournay and Signorina 
Imelda Olivetta remained behind. Juliette said in 
a voice full of enthusiasm : 

“ Frangoise, our Queen is magnifique ; and she 
promises great — ah, great things in the future.” 

“ We all love our Queen, we adore her,” said the 
Signorina, and then the two girls left Frangoise, who 
watched them with a scowl between her brows. 

That night she thought a good deal, and before 
she went to bed wrote a long letter to her stepmother. 
In that letter she hinted to la belle mere that there 
might possibly be trouble in the School ; and that, if 
such were the case, she, Frangoise, might require 
her aid. The letter was given as usual to Henri, 
who, as usual, took it to his good aunt, Citoyenne 
Pelven, to glance at before it was posted. Citoyenne 
Pelven gazed along at the scrawling writing, at the 
untidy caligraphy. Then she raised her black eyes 
and fixed them on her nephew. 

“ Little son,” she said — for this was her invari- 


LA COBRA 7 S LETTER. 


241 


able name for bim — “ here is another letter from 
la cobra; but it goes not on this occasion to Lyon. 
Nevertheless the letters of Mile, la Cobra had best 
not be circulated; for it is, little son, as though we 
spread in our midst a poison — the poison that surely 
causes la mort. Shall we consume the letter in the 
stove ? ” 

“ Ah, oui, ouij little mother,” cried Henri ; and 
this letter was also put into the white stove, while 
Citoyenne Pelven gave a harsh dry cackle. 

“ Haste with the rest of the letters to the post- 
office, little son,” she remarked ; “ and come back for 
a cup of bouillon of the best, and gateaux quite new. 
Vite, vite, little son, lose not the post for the other 
letters.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 

Muriel could scarcely sleep that night. She felt 
restless and unhappy. She ardently wished now 
that she had not arranged that close proximity of 
Joyce Selby’s little room to her own. As the days 
went on she felt more and more that between her 
and Joyce was a gulf fixed — a gulf wide, deep, im- 
passable. She had begun by loving Joyce for her 
beauty and for her wealth. But for Muriel’s own 
strong desires Joyce would never have been asked 
to be Queen of La Societe de Joie; but now she was 
Queen — Queen because Muriel had wished it ; Queen 
because, having once seen her, the rest of the girls 
desired it. And, strange, incomprehensible as it may 
seem, Joyce Selby, the rich and beautiful young 
English heiress, had become a thorn in Muriel’s side. 
All the other girls took her part — all the other girls 
except Frangoise. And what was Frangoise after 
all ? She was not noble, either by birth or by char- 
acter. She was nothing more nor less than a daugh- 
ter of the people. She could stoop — ah, yes, she 
could stoop very low. Muriel felt that she wanted 
her to stoop, and yet at the same time she dreaded 
242 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 243 

inexpressibly what Frangoise might do. Frangoise 
was only a member of the Society, and yet, in Mu- 
riel’s opinion at the present moment, she was the 
most important person therein. She could do un- 
told mischief. She could — ah, yes, she must do un- 
told mischief ; there was no other way ; there was no 
help for it. There was no possible way out but 
through that spirit of mischief, worldliness, even of 
wickedness, which lurked in the eyes of Frangoise 
Dupuis. Had not Muriel on the previous evening at 
diner noticed the look of contentment and happiness 
on Hope’s face? Had she not observed how La 
Comtesse Caterina talked to Hope quite in the old 
way — with the old affection, with the old light in her 
beautiful eyes ? Did she not further observe how 
that horrible little girl, J eanne Gerusez, darted back- 
wards and forwards with many messages and whis- 
perings, to all of which Hope listened with that grave 
attention which was one of her marked characteris- 
tics. How horrible it all looked! How more than 
suspicious it all seemed ! What a faithless girl 
Joyce must be, after all, to dare not only to upset the 
plans of the Committee but to break her vows and 
tell them to Hope Ashley, who, in her turn, spoke of 
them to one so common as Jeanne Gerusez ! Oh, the 
whole thing was impossible! Frangoise must help 
Muriel, must help her quickly, or the beautiful So- 
ciety would crumble to the ground. It would be- 
come as ashes under their feet. Oh, yes, oh, yes, 
there was no doubt whatsoever that the time had 


244 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 


come for Muriel to act. She felt already, as she 
tossed from side to side of her pillow, that she had 
lost her dearest friend, La Comtesse de Mori. Well, 
well, all yet might be correct, he proper, he as it used 
to be, if the Queen, the Queen, Joyce Selby, could 
he dethroned. Of course Muriel herself could not 
do this, but there was another who could. She could 
bring false accusations against Joyce, but were they 
false ? To break the rule of secrecy was a crime of 
the blackest magnitude, and Muriel felt almost cer- 
tain that Joyce had deliberately broken this primary 
rule. . If such a thing could he proved against her, 
all else would he easy. The girls who now loved 
her would hate her; she would be sent from their 
midst with all the cruel malignancy which had fol- 
lowed the fate of Pauline. Let her English castle 
go; let her wealth depart. They could do without 
her ; she was too much for them. They did not after 
all want a Queen like her. They wanted a Queen 
as a figurehead — a Queen who would put her hand 
into her pocket when necessary and produce gold — 
unlimited gold. But, although Joyce could and would 
give of her money, she would never, under any cir- 
cumstances, become a figurehead. Ah, well, she 
must he dethroned. The ceremony would he un- 
pleasant, but Erangoise would denounce the plot, 
and, after all, there w T ould be truth in it. The turn- 
ing round of the Comtesse, the curious messages con- 
veyed to Jeanne Gerusez, would all be strong proof 
against Joyce. Joyce, Hope, Jeanne — ah, yes, yes,. 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 245 

there would be abundant proof for Muriel’s purpose 
and for Frangoise’s purpose, although, of course, at 
the present moment Muriel had no intention of ap- 
pearing personally in the matter. She would keep 
in the background; she would appear very, very 
sorry; she would even weep a little when La Com- 
tesse de Mori spoke to her. La Comtesse would come 
back again to her own Muriel. Joyce would under- 
go her punishment, severe, stately, undying, crush- 
ing, and would of course, as Pauline had done, even- 
tually leave the great School of La Chapelle. Things 
would be as they had always been, and this little epi- 
sode of the arrival of the Queen, of the departure 
of the Queen, would be quickly forgotten in the 
School. Muriel arranged it all that night as she 
lay awake. They would induce Marguerite de Marni 
to become their Queen; she had not yet received 
that honour. Marguerite was timid, and would not 
attempt to go against the dictates of the Committee. 
Yes, Marguerite was the girl for their purpose. 
Muriel had a longing desire to make Frangoise their 
Queen, but that she knew would be absolutely im- 
possible. She turned, therefore, from the tempting 
thought and, as the morning broke, dropped asleep. 

It had been arranged between Muriel and Fran- 
$oise that their next meeting was to take place at 
recess on the following day. They would go to the 
old rose garden, seat themselves in the bower and 
talk — ah, how easily, how busily they would talk! 
That old rose garden had listened before now to 


246 THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 

many grave secrets; those ancient rose trees might 
well have bent their tall stems under the weight of 
the grave revelations made to them by the nuns; 
afterwards by the staff of Madame la Comtesse do 
Tres; and afterwards again by the young pupils of 
the said Comtesse. But on this occasion only two 
girls met in the rose garden, which was bare and 
destitute of all flowers. The last traces of winter 
had long fled. The old-fashioned spring flowers 
had begun to show bloom ; there was a delight- 
ful tone of green — young, fresh, spring green — per- 
ceptible all over the ancient place. Muriel scarcely 
noticed this, so absorbed and distracted was her 
mind; but Frangoise did, for with all her wicked- 
ness she loved nature. 

“ The Spring is coming,” she said ; “ it will soon 
be here. Behold the buds — they are swollen to burst- 
ing. The little flowers will peep forth. The leaves 
will cover the old rose bushes; the roses themselves 
will blossom. Ah, but I love the Spring ! ” 

“ Do not talk of it now, Frangoise,” said Muriel. 
“ The Spring is all very well, but we have some- 
thing else to discuss. Have you thought of a means 
of deposing that traitor, Joyce Selby ? ” 

“ Speak not so loudly, cherie ” replied Frangoise. 
“ Knowest thou not that walls have ears, and that 
eyes may look at us even from the midst of the thick 
ivy? Speak low, cherie , if thou dost not wish to 
get into trouble — oh, of the most terrible.” 

“ Of course I don’t want to get into any trouble,” 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 247 

said Muriel. “ I don’t want to have anything to do 
in the matter. In fact I must not have anything to 
do with it. It must rest in thy hands, chere Fran- 
Soise.” 

“ Ah, oh, is that indeed the case ? 99 answered 
Frangoise. “ And how canst thou possibly tell that 
I will take this dirty work on myself ? 99 

“ I think you will because I ask you,” said Muriel. 
u But for me you would never have become a mem- 
ber of our Society. Until I took your part you were 
miserable, nest-ce pas , mademoiselle ? ” 

“ C’est vrai /' replied Frangoise, “ thou didst so 
much for me, little Muriel. But I remember and 
forget not — I paid for my advantages, such as they 
-are. I gave into your green velvet purse five golden 
napoleons which I could ill spare. I have been — 
ah, it is true — happier, far happier, since I have 
become part of your Societe de Joie, but I never 
•counted upon doing the work which you would not 
stoop to. With you I can do much ; without you rien, 
out, rien/' 

Muriel turned and looked gravely at Fran§oise, 
whose decidedly ugly face looked at its worst at that 
moment. Again that queer, subtle sort of fear, with 
regard to her new friend, crept over the heart of 
Muriel St. John. She paused for a full moment to 
think, then, slipping her hand inside Frangoise’s 
arm, she said in a coaxing tone: 

“ Seest thou not, little Fran§oise, that I, as a 
member of the Committee, as treasurer for the Com- 


248 THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 

mittee, cannot possibly take a step which for thee,, 
cherie, would be as nothing, and less than nothing. 
For, cherie , thou art not on the Committee ; thou art 
simply a member of La Societe de Joie ; and I have 
news for thee. Ah, from the bottom of my heart I 
believe it. Our Queen not only takes the lead but I 
have every reason to believe that she is false to us; 
I’ve every reason to be certain that she has con- 
fided our secrets to Hope Ashley; that she has 
brought round la Comtesse Caterina; and that their 
little spy and go-between is no one less than that 
vipere in the grass, Jeanne Gerusez.” 

“ Canst thou prove that, Muriel ? ” demanded 
Frangoise, her light blue eyes sparkling with ill- 
concealed triumph. 

“I cannot prove it,” replied Muriel, “ but I sus- 
pect it. I suspect it strongly — most strongly. I 
want it to be thy work to prove it, Frangoise. Com- 
prenez-vous, cherie ? ” 

“Ah, oui ” replied Frangoise, and then she was 
silent. After a minute or two she said: 

“ If this thing were proved — proved openly in the 
midst of all the members of the Society — the Queen 
would be dethroned.” 

" Mais certainement,” exclaimed Muriel, her eyes 
sparkling with delight. 

“ It would be tres difficile ” exclaimed Frangoise. 
“ It would be almost impossible 

“ Ho, no, no,” cried Muriel, “ thou couldst ac- 
complish the impossible.” 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 249 

" Eh, bien, let me consider — let me think,” said 
Frangoise. 

Muriel eagerly watched her face. How small and 
common were those features ; how furtive those tiny, 
blue eyes; how sloping away was that chin! What 
lines there were round the thin lips, which spoke at 
the present moment quite boldly and quite openly 
of a deceitful character ! Suddenly Frangoise turned 
round and faced Muriel. 

“ I know I am common and ugly,” she said, “ and 
I know I have no strength of character to boast of. 
Nevertheless I have a certain strength — a strength 
all my own which I will not speak of at the present 
moment. You want me, Muriel St. John, to do some- 
thing very bad and very daring. I do not for a mo- 
ment regret having become your friend. I have 
been much happier since I joined La Societe de Joie; 
but I perfectly agree with you in not liking the 
Queen, Joyce Selby. But hearken, listen, Muriel! 
Although in very truth I hate the Queen, it is not 
for the reasons you hate her. I do not, for a single 
moment, think that one like Joyce Selby would break 
a vow or reveal to others what she faithfully prom- 
ised not to reveal. The reason I hate Joyce Selby 
is because she is too good ; ah, but listen — pray listen. 
I can get on with you because — because you are not 
good. There! cest vrai! You belong to me and 
mine, and therefore we pull together. You call your- 
self one of the nobles of England, but I call you 
one of the i^nobles of the earth, just as I am, chere 


250 THE GIKL WHO WOULD BE QUEEH. 

Muriel, one of the ^nobles of the earth. I am well 
acquainted with the fact that I am not good. Why, 
any child can see it in my face. Did not Edmee 
Leroux leave the Society when I was admitted a 
member? And Edmee is only the daughter of a 
vine-grower at Tourelle. But she is good, whereas 
I am not; she is very good, so she would not stay. 
But you stayed, Muriel, because we are as one. Now 
I will do what you wish, and so manage matters as 
to dethrone your Queen — your fine, gracious, noble 
Queen, in such a way and after such a manner that 
no one will connect you with the business. I will 
have a false accusation brought against her, and she 
will be forced to retire. I do not know how I will 
manage, and when I have arranged my plans I will 
not reveal them to anyone. But I do this on one 
condition, and one only. You, Muriel St. John, 
must make me — yes, me — Queen in her stead; other- 
wise I will have neither part nor lot in the matter.” 

Muriel fairly gasped, and yet she felt the subtle, 
strange power of Frangoise filling her with its fatal 
poison. 

“ There is no great hurry,” continued Frangoise 
in her calm tones. “ You are doubtless a little 
shocked, and you think the matter a little difficult; 
but believe me, long before the time arrives, it will 
not be difficult at all. It will be, in fact, the easiest 
thing in the world. I have thought this thing out. 
The present Queen, the lawful Queen, the Queen en- 
throned in the hearts of every member of the So- 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEN. 


251 


ciety, has declared her intention of having a great 
fete in the grounds on the longest day, the 21st of 
June. She proposes to invite to that fete not only 
the members of the Society, but every girl in the 
School. She further intends to send invitations to 
the staff of teachers, and in especial to Madame 1& 
Comtesse de Tres. My advice to you, Muriel, is 
this: Let her have her way; you cannot possibly 
prevent it. She will so manage and arrange matters 
that not a soul will suspect that the invitation comes 
from the Queen of an important secret society. Ah, 
well, I repeat: let her have her way. As to her 
breaking her vows, such a thing is not in her, you 
silly Muriel. But I- — J will step in on the condi- 
tions I have named, on the day — the night rather — 
of that great fete. Before that fete is over Joyce 
Selby shall be disgraced and dethroned, and I — ah, 
oui, c est grande, c’est magnifique ! — will ascend her 
throne, will wear her laurels, will be your Queen. 
Think not that I will interfere with the Committee, 
except by suggestion and whisper. Naughty thoughts 
will dart through the minds of the young demoiselles 
which I will put there without their knowing it. 
Naughty expeditions — wild and daring adventures — 
ah, yes, and you will help, you will help. For you 
and I, we belong to each other; we are, in short, 
affinities, nest-ce pas, Muriel, nest-ce pas ? ” 

“ Oh, oh, don’t!” cried Muriel; “ I cannot listen 
to you at present ; I cannot believe you at present. 


252 


THE GIRL WHO WOULD BE QUEEH. 


You make me feel as I never, never felt before. Let 
me alone, Frangoise, I can promise nothing now.” 

“ Ah, but you will come to it,” said Frangoise. 
“ It is a mere nothing, pauvre Muriel.” 

“ There is the bell — we must return at once to our 
lessons,” said Muriel in a tone of relief. 

“ I am glad,” said Frangoise. “ I mean to work 
hard. We are great friends, are we not, Muriel ? ” 

“ Peut-etre ” replied Muriel, but she said the 
words in a choking voice. 

“ On no other conditions do I help you but those 
that I have mentioned, Muriel,” said Frangoise. 

She entered the great house with a sort of swag- 
ger. Muriel looked after her with downright horror 
in her eyes. Was it Frangoise’ s new Parisian dress, 
or was it her face alone ? Muriel felt terrified. She 
had, in short, put her hand into the fire, and the fire 
was scorching her. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE HOSTESSES. 

Joyce, having made her declaration to the Societe 
de J oie , proceeded quite calmly to carry it out. Her 
first and immediate step was to consult with the 
Head Mistress, with the great Madame la Comtesse 
de Tres. She sent her, therefore, a little note beg- 
ging for a private interview, and this lady, who took 
a great interest in her brilliant young pupil, ar- 
ranged to receive her in her boudoir two or three 
days after the last meeting of the Society. 

Miss Tabor had told Madame la Comtesse exactly 
what had passed between her and the English girl, 
and Madame was thoroughly pleased that Joyce 
should take her place in the School upon her own 
merits. Joyce had been an orphan from her earliest 
days, and was, until she became of age, under the 
care of certain guardians. By their directions Con- 
ing’s Tower Castle was kept in absolute repair; its 
staff of servants was well supplied; and there was 
always present Joyce’s faithful nurse, to welcome 
her darling whenever that child, as she expressed it, 
returned home after an absence, either at an English 
253 


254 


THE HOSTESSES. 


School or from visits to her relations, who petted 
Joyce for herself, and did not trouble themselves to 
think of her wealth. As has been hinted in these 
pages, Joyce only thought of this said wealth as a 
valuable loan to be spent on others. It never oc- 
curred to her to use it, in any sense of the word, for 
her own aggrandisement or well-being. She con- 
sulted with her guardians as to the very best possible 
way in which to help her tenantry; and, as far as 
lay in their power, they did give her the necessary 
assistance, assuring her at the same time that when 
she reached twenty-one all the vast estates and the 
fine old house would be her own to do as she liked 
with. There were no better cottages, therefore, any- 
where in Warwickshire than those which belonged 
to Coning’s Tower ; no cottages better drained, better 
whitewashed, with more substantial roofs, with nicer 
and prettier porches. The little gardens which ap- 
' pertained to each were abundantly filled with flow- 
ers of all sorts and kinds; and Joyce, young as she 
was, had already started a yearly, competition for the 
best roses and the best geraniums — in short, the best 
flowers generally, that could be grown in that fine 
alluvial soil. The labourers on the estate adored 
their young mistress; the boys and girls hailed her 
approach with rapture. She was their idol — there 
was nothing they would not do for her. Joyce had 
a way of helping these people without talking of 
her wealth or position, and that way pleased them 
mightily. 


THE HOSTESSES. 


255 


Amongst the servants were the old housekeeper, 
Mrs. Ransom; the old butler, Peterson; and, above 
and beyond all these, Hanna, Joyce’s faithful nurse.. 
To these three she gave her warm heart, keeping up 
at the same time her young dignity, and letting them 
feel that, although she would do anything in the 
world for them, she expected their complete and 
absolute obedience. For two or three years of her 
young life Joyce had been educated at home by a 
lady who had herself been taught at the School of 
La Chapelle. Then this kind and good woman mar- 
ried, and Joyce was sent to a School in London. She 
had no fault to find with the School, but it was, in 
her opinion, commonplace, and she longed for the 
variety — in short, for the peculiar freshness, which 
she was certain belonged to La Chapelle. Her guar- 
dians were consulted with regard to the matter, and 
shortly after she had completed her sixteenth year 
she was sent to La Chapelle with the intention of 
remaining there for at least two years, in order to 
perfect herself in the French tongue. Joyce was 
slightly bewildered and slightly overcome by the new 
scenes in which she now found herself. Her first 
desire was to put aside her riches and take the place 
of la pauvre demoiselle , such as Jeanne Gerusez, 
such as Edmee Leroux. But Miss Tabor had ef- 
fectually opened her eyes to the folly of this pro- 
ceeding. Joyce very gravely and very sweetly ac- 
cepted the dictum of her English governess; and 
from that moment took no pains to hide the fact that 


256 


THE HOSTESSES. 


she was rich. She also, after grave thought, accepted 
the great honour conferred on her, namely, the 
Queenship of la Societe de Joie, and, having most 
carefully studied all the rules, she resolved to raise 
the Society to a pitch of greatness which it had never 
yet aspired to. She won the hearts of every girl 
belonging to the Society, with the two exceptions of 
Muriel and Frangoise. Frangoise she had not up 
to the present much noticed; and she was unaware 
when she wrote to Madame la Comtesse that Muriel 
disliked her. She was simply acting on her pre- 
rogative; she was the head of the Society; she was 
above the Committee. She wished such a thing to 
take place, and take place it must. Madame la Com- 
tesse waited for the arrival of her young pupil with 
very great interest and some little wonder. She had 
not the faintest idea of the existence of the Society 
to which Joyce belonged; but Joyce felt that on the 
present occasion, while keeping all mention of the 
Society out of view, she could not proceed with her 
grande fete without the knowledge and assistance of 
Madame la Comtesse. 

Now as she entered the Comtesse’s room she 
dropped one of those pretty, graceful curtseys which 
she had inherited from her Spanish great-grand- 
mother. 

“ You may remember, Madame la Comtesse,” she 
began, “ that when I first came to the School I 
wished to take upon me the appearance of poverty. 


THE HOSTESSES. 


257 


Hut Miss Tabor opened my eyes to the folly of such, 
a proceeding.” 

“ I am glad of it, my dear child,” said the Com- 
tesse. “ In your case it would have been singularly 
unwise, and you could not have carried it through.” 

“ Ah, oui, Madame , you are right.” 

“ And now, my child,” said the Comtesse, “ what 
is it you want specially to talk to me about \ ” 

“ I am anxious, chere Madame ” said Joyce, 
speaking in that wonderfully winning voice of hers, 
and raising her dark, deep eyes to the face of the 
Comtesse, “ to get your permission to hold a fete, 
yes, a fete, in these grounds on the twenty-first of 
June. I want to have full liberty from you, 
Madame, to carry out the details of the fete in my 
own way and with the aid of my special friends.” 

“ And they ? ” enquired the Comtesse. 

“ They are in especial,” replied Joyce, “ Muriel 
St. John, La Comtesse Caterina, Juliette de Tour- 
nay, Marguerite de Marni, Hope Ashley, and sev- 
eral more.” 

“ Ah, but c’est bien, tres bien ” remarked the Com- 
tesse, who did not know anything with regard to 
Muriel’s special character. “ You have chosen some 
of the nicest girls in the school for your friends, 
Joyce.” 

“ I want to invite the entire School to the fete,” 
said Joyce, “ and all the teachers — all; and in es- 
pecial you, chere Madame, you to be truly our Queen 
and Head on this great occasion.” 


258 


THE HOSTESSES. 


“ But this will cost money, 'petite ” remarked 
Madame, smiling into the glowing eyes, and looking 
at the dimples on the cheeks which were just touched 
with the sun of Spain. 

“ Madame, I have the money ; I want to spend it 
on this great occasion. Will you give me permission, 
and will — will you join — will you come — will you be 
our head ? ” 

“ I will join, I will come, I will be your head, 
sweet child,” said Madame, rising as she spoke, and 
pressing her lips on the soft, red lips of J oyce Selby. 

J oyce went away from the presence of that dearly 
beloved Madame, with a feeling in her heart which 
partly choked her and partly raised her above the 
world. She did not, for the first time in her life, 
feel satisfied at keeping any secret from Madame; 
and yet, at the same time, she knew that the secret « 
of la Societe de Joie was not her own, but belonged 
to others. It could not, therefore, be revealed. She 
must soothe her troubled feelings with this thought, 
although a wild idea flashed through her brain that 
by and by in the future she might win the girls of 
the Societe to her way of thinking, and might induce 
them to make Madame their Queen once and for- 
ever. But this belonged to the future. At present 
she was busy preparing for her fete. 

It happened to be a particularly warm and fra- 
grant Spring. The trees came into leaf, into bud, 
into flower; the cherry-blossoms so celebrated in la 
belle France covered the land with their sweet fra- 


THE HOSTESSES. 


259 


grance, their charming purity of colour. Then there 
appeared the other blossoming trees, such, for in- 
stance, as the apple; such, for instance, as the pear. 
The country all round Tourelle — poor, little, shabby, 
neglected Tourelle — and the country all round the 
great house of la Chapelle, looked somewhat as 
though it had put on bridal robes. There was a 
delicate, pearly pink to be seen as far as ever the 
eye could reach. Joyce was enraptured with this 
beauty. It is true that Franqoise loved nature, hut 
not as Joyce loved it. Joyce adored each flower, 
each bud, as though God Himself had touched the 
flowers and the buds and made them perfect. Joyce 
was by nature a very merry girl. Amongst all the 
girls in the School there was none with so hearty a 
laugh as hers ; but beneath the laughter and the fun 
and a keen sense of revelry and rejoicing, there lay 
also an all-pervading sense of reverence. It was 
God Himself w T ho had made this good, good world. 
It was by His divine orders that the sap rose year 
by year in the trees ; and lo and behold ! the trees 
blossomed and eventually brought forth fruit. It 
was all owing to God — yes, to God; and Joyce felt 
that she loved this Friend who was so close to her 
and yet so unseen. 

At the present time she was very busy. There 
were constant meetings of the Societe , constant and 
frequent desires on the part of Joyce to make their 
fete something wonderful — something which never 
before had been heard of or seen in the School of La 


260 


THE HOSTESSES. 


Chapelle. She was extremely careful at once to re- 
tain her own prerogative — that of Queen of the So- 
ciety — and also to secure the combined action of cer- 
tain very special friends. She said it was absolutely 
necessary on the evening of the fete to have host- 
esses; and she suggested that Muriel St. John and 
La Comtesse Caterina and herself should form three 
hostesses, that Juliette de Tournay should also join 
the group, and that finally, hut most assuredly, her 
own friend, Hope Ashley, should be a hostess for 
this special occasion. 

“ For remember, cheres mesdemoiselles , that this 
special fete extends very far beyond la Societe de 
Joie , and that Hope Ashley, as an outside member, 
can he most useful. She is, please also recall, my 
first cousin and dearest friend. We do not want too 
many hostesses, but we require a certain number in 
order to allow the rest of the girls to be absolutely 
free to enjoy themselves to their hearts’ desire.” 

As Joyce said these last words, she raised her 
beautiful, dark, deep eyes and suddenly encoun- 
tered the puzzled, anxious, half-venomous, half-be- 
seeching gaze of Frangoise Dupuis. 

“ You have not long been a member of the So- 
ciete,” she remarked, smiling gently at the girl who 
meant to ruin her. “ But if it will give you pleas- 
ure, we will also include you amongst the hostesses.” 

“ It will give me very great pleasure, and I thank 
you, Queen,” said Frangoise, who found herself 
trembling not a little, who further found herself 


THE HOSTESSES. 


261 


shrinking away from Muriel’s bold, defiant glance. 

The hostesses having been secured, formal letters 
in their names were to be written to every member 
of the School. The girls of la Societe took it on them 
to write these letters, Joyce having herself chosen 
the mode in which they were to be addressed, and the 
words in which they were to be couched. Suddenly, 
however, she stopped. 

“ Arretez, s’il vous plait , mesdemoiselles ” she re- 
marked, “ these letters of invitation must be signed 
by all the hostesses. I have not yet obtained Hope 
Ashley’s permission to make her a hostess. But I 
see her from here, walking alone in a distant part 
of the grounds. If you will permit me, dear demoi- 
selles, I will go to her at once and speak to her.” 

When J oyce said, “ if you will permit me,” the 
words sounded much more like, “ I intend to go 
whether you permit me or not.” 

Ho girl uttered a word, and the Queen of la So- 
ciete dashed out of the room. The moment this hap- 
pened, Muriel with a silent nod invited Frangoise to 
take a place by her side. 

“ How ridiculous this all is,” she remarked. 

Frangoise said, “ I do not see anything ridiculous 
in it,” and Muriel began to wonder if she would end 
by thoroughly disliking her new friend. After a 
minute of absolute silence one or two of the girls 
approached a tiny window and looked out on the 
scene below. Ho one who was enjoying herself in the 
sunny grounds troubled that same self to look up 


262 


THE HOSTESSES. 


at the windows which dimly lit the great front at- 
tic; but from these windows a very vivid scene could 
be beheld by those who happened to look on. Fran- 
goise was amongst those who happened to look on. 
After a minute’s very earnest gaze, she turned and 
flung herself down on an old box near Muriel. Muriel 
immediately began to whisper to her in an eager 
voice, and Frangoise shook her head vehemently sev- 
eral times. The rest of the girls of the Society could 
not hear a syllable which was spoken between the 
two ; but there was not the slightest doubt that F ran- 
goise and Muriel were very strongly differing on 
more than one point, and that beyond doubt Fran- 
goise was getting the better of the controversy. 

Meanwhile Joyce, her beautiful jet-black hair 
caught by a light spring breeze, flew across one of the 
lawns and presently touched Hope on the arm. 

“ Hope, cherie , my darling,” she began. 

Hope turned and looked at her dearest friend with 
all the love she was capable of in her eyes. Hope 
was not exactly a beautiful girl, but she looked more 
than beautiful at moments such as these. Hers was 
a beauty far beyond the beauty of the body; it was, 
in short, the beauty of the soul, and that beauty 
Hope Ashley possessed to a marked degree. 
Her charm lay in her expression; and her expres- 
sion approached, yes, close, very close indeed, to the 
stars. Hope was quite well aware of the fact that 
Joyce had been asked to join that Societe which she 
herself had declined to have anything to do with. 


THE HOSTESSES. 


263 


She had not, of course, mentioned a word; she had 
not, of course, breathed a syllable. She was bound 
by her own vows of secrecy not to influence Joyce 
one way or the other. She must not talk of la So- 
ciety in the presence of Joyce. She had promised 
this when she refused to become a member, and she 
must keep her word, however bitter the cost, how- 
ever great her fear that her dearest friend of all her 
friends, Joyce Selby, would also he snatched away 
from her. But, oh, happy, oh, wonderful day ! 
Such was not the case. Beyond doubt J oyce had be- 
come a member, but far from losing Hope’s affec- 
tion, far from taking her own affection from Hope, 
she loved her as much as ever. She also did more; 
she contrived in the simplest, gentlest way in the 
world to bring Caterina de Mori back again to Hope 
as her friend. Hope had always dearly loved Ca- 
terina, and had much felt her defection. But now 
they were friends — friends, although secrets, like 
dead things, lay between them. 

The joyful, eager voice of Joyce was heard, now 
coming nearer as she sped across the grass. 

“ Hi, Hope, hi ! But you are — you are of the 
naughty ones ! I want you — I want to speak to you. 
Listen, pray listen ! I must hurry away again, and 
what I have to say is of — oh, such great impor- 
tance.” 

Hope turned and gave one of her most radiant 
smiles. 

“ You are out of breath, J oyce cherie ” she said. 


264 


THE HOSTESSES. 


“ If you have anything special to say to me, don’t 
say it here where all the School can look at us. Come 
into the Beech Walk. We shall he unmolested, un- 
noticed in the Beech Walk.” 

Joyce got back her breath, and without a word 
followed her friend. 

“ Here we are secure from prying eyes,” said 
Hope. “ How what is it you have to say to me, my 
— my darling ? ” 

“ Ah, Hope, Hope! ” replied Joyce, “ there is no- 
one like you in all the world — no one to me like you,, 
my own Hope, my very own Hope! And now I 
know you will grant my little favour — the favour 
that I beg of you.” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Hope, speaking in some as- 
tonishment. 

“ I can put it to you,” answered Joyce, “ in a few 
plain words. This is the end of April; there comes 
May between, and then June — June, on to her 
longest, most glorious day; June to the twenty-first 
of her glorious month. Listen to me, do listen to 
me, Hope. I have — I’ve conceived a plan, and I 
have, what is more, consulted the Head Mistress.” 

“ Madame la Comtesse de Tres ? ” exclaimed Hope 
in some astonishment. 

“ Yes, I have consulted with her, and she ap- 
proves, she consents. She will do what we wish. 
My plan is this: I want to give a fete, ah, a great 
fete, to include every member of the School. It will 
be in one sense my f£te, in another sense it will be 


THE HOSTESSES. 


265 


the fete of certain hostesses whom I — yes, I myself 
will select — whom I have, in short, selected. Don’t 
ask me their names, beloved Hope. This fete has 
nothing to do with Societies or secret feasts of any 
sort. It is all open and above hoard. The money 
comes from me, and I do so love to spend it ; and I 
want every girl in the School, every single one to he 
present and to be happy. The refreshments will he 
in a certain marquee which I think I can engage in 
the town of Tourelle ; but there must — that is essen- 
tial — there must be certain hostesses who will look 
after the guests one and all; who will see that they 
are provided with the necessary refreshments; who 
will guide them in the mazes of the dance ; who will 
help them by their presence, their chic presence, 
cherie , and their wonderful tact. The letters of in- 
vitation will he signed by all the hostesses. Madame, 
as I veil you, has promised to attend. Dear Frau- 
lein Schwann will attend; dear Miss Tabor will be 
present. But the fete will be altogether the work of 
the girls of La Chapelle, and we want you to be one 
of the hostesses, Hope Ashley — you, because you be- 
long to me and because I cannot be happy without 
you. Will you consent, Hope cherie ? Will you be a 
hostess of this fete which is no secret, and the invi- 
tations for which are to be sent out immediately? 
You must add your name to the other names. They 
ought all to go out this week if possible. I only 
want your consent. Will you consent, dearest 
Hope?” 


266 


THE HOSTESSES. 


u If you wish it,” said Hope, after a pause. “ But 
you have not yet told me who the other girls will 
he.” 

“ Ah, but I have nothing to conceal. You know 
them one and all. There is Muriel St. John; there 
is Mile. Juliette de Tournay; there is a girl whom 
perhaps you do not know, but she would like to join, 
and I think it would make her happy; her name is 
Erangoise Dupuis.” 

Hope gave a sudden start. 

“ But,” she exclaimed — “ hut that is the very girl 
whose admission into — ah, I must not say the words, 
for I am not permitted, but you know, Joyce, my 
darling ; let me think, do let me think. J oyce do you 
really want me to be a hostess ? ” 

“ More than anything in the world,” said Joyce. 
u In addition to the great marquee there will be 
several tents put up on the lawns, and I want you 
and I — yes, you and I, Hope, to take complete 
charge of one tent, which will be the largest and 
most significant of all. Thus we shall be together 
all the evening. Think of it, Hope, can you say 
no?” 

“ I, too, will make a condition,” said Hope — “ I 
will become a hostess if Edmee Leroux is also per- 
mitted to become a hostess.” 

“ Ah, thank you, thank you,” said Joyce. “ That 
will be quite splendid and it shall be done. I like 
Edmee’s dear, good, pretty face so much. I want 
very badly to know her better.” 


THE HOSTESSES. 


267 


“ And she wants to know you better, J oyce. But 
under existing conditions such a thing is impossible. 
Well, Joyce, I will speak to her, and she will con- 
sent for my sake. This is an affair of one evening 
only; and the idea is quite like my open-handed, 
generous Joyce.” 

Joyce kissed her hand frantically once or twice 
to her friend, then flew back to the house and 
found herself once again in the front attic. 


CHAPTER XX. 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 

There was a good deal of confusion and commo- 
tion and fuss when Joyce Selby, having quite recov- 
ered her breath, stood before her young companions 
and repeated her news. At first there was a storm 
of indignation when the name of Edmee Leroux was 
mentioned as a sine qua non to the securing of Hope 
Ashley as a hostess. But Joyce stood firm and reso- 
lute, and after some angry words had been spoken 
Frangoise Dupuis was seen to bend forward and 
whisper something to Muriel St. John- — the whisper- 
ing of which caused Muriel's brow to clear. 

J oyce said in her calmest voice, " I wish it. I 
am absolute monarch of this Societe. Edmee Le- 
roux is to be invited." 

With these words all the girls withdrew their ob- 
jections, and Joyce with a slight, contented sigh, sat 
down to sketch the letter which was to be repeated, 
word for word, to each and every girl in the big 
School. A slightly different form of letter was to 
be addressed to the staff, but it was only to differ by 
a word or two; and there was to be again a more 
deferential way of approaching Madame la Corn- 
268 


PATJVRE LA VIPERE. 


269 


tesse de Tres. When the letters were composed, 
which took some little time, Joyce divided the writ- 
ing of them between the thirty-two girls who now 
composed la Societe de Joie. These letters were to 
he all in readiness for signature on that day week. 
Afterwards the Committee broke up, and Frangoise 
and Muriel went away to consult together. Fran- 
goise was vain — very ugly people often are ; and now 
that she was to be promoted to the position of host- 
ess she determined to write immediately to la belle 
mere for a suitable and becoming dress for the great 
occasion. La belle mere had such admirable taste. 
Muriel ventured to suggest that F rangoise would look 
best in white, but Frangoise herself inclined to the 
palest of blue ; and Muriel allowed her to go her own 
way, feeling quite certain that whatever dress poor 
Frangoise appeared in, would injure, not improve, 
her appearance. A strange revulsion of feeling had 
come over Muriel. The girl who was to be her tool, 
and effect that mischief which she so earnestly de- 
sired, was not any longer in her heart of hearts her 
chosen friend; she would be, of course, outwardly 
her friend until the great catastrophe had taken place 
— until Joyce Selby was dethroned. But if Fran- 
goise made up her mind to be Queen of the Society, 
and if such an absurd request was granted, she, 
Muriel St. John, would leave it. She could not 
possibly work under such a Queen as Frangoise. No, 
it was impossible, impossible ! She reflected further 
that her leaving the Society immediately after the 


270 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 


dethroning of Joyce would speak exceedingly well 
for her. Nevertheless she felt nervous — more nerv- 
ous, more frightened, than she had ever been in her 
life before. 

“ I think we did wrong to permit this fete to take 
place,” she said. 

Frangoise laid her hand on Murieks arm. 

“ Chere petite ” she exclaimed, “ it is only for the 
once ; before the next fete for the poor and the dirty 
— ah, bah! — Joyce Selby will be expelled, and I — 
ah! I shall reign in her stead.” 

“ I don’t know how I shall dare to propose such a 
thing to the girls, Frangoise,” cried Muriel. “ You 
are not even on the Committee. It will be considered 
something quite outrageous.” 

“ And pray was Joyce Selby on the Committee,” 
asked Frangoise in her bitterest tone, her face wear- 
ing its very ugliest expression. 

“ No, no, but you surely do not compare yourself 
to Joyce Selby — she who is noble by birth, and pos- 
sesses one of the finest places in England.” 

“I care not,” replied Frangoise. “ You may if 
you like think her noble and great, whereas I think 
her ignoble and small. But keep to her if you like, 
chere Muriel; let her rule you with that little deli- 
cate rod of steel which she does wear; let her go on 
proposing fete after fete for the poor and the dirty. 
Let her take the joy out of la Societe de Joie. I 
care not; I only help you — only help you on one 
condition, Muriel St. John.” 


PATJVRE LA VIPERE. 


271 


“ Well, well, let it be — let it be for tbe present,” 
said Muriel. “ Of course I don’t choose to be ruled 
over by Joyce Selby; but there is time enough. My 
Society shall not crumble to the dust. I will see how 
best to accede to your wishes, Frangoise, but don’t 
let us talk any more on the subject now.” 

The girls wandered away, and Frangoise, seeing 
that she had gone a little too far, tried to entertain 
her friend, who was in reality her friend no longer, 
by talking about Paris and describing the delights of 
the gayest capital in the world. Frangoise told 
Muriel that la belle mere would beyond a doubt in- 
vite her, Muriel, to the new and beautiful house ; and 
she should see for herself — with her own eyes, the 
great palace of Versailles; the ruins of St. Cloud; 
and, in addition, she would be taken to theatres — 
oh, the most ravishing, and behold with her own eyes 
how the well-trained French girl could dance. 

Muriel was excited and pleased at this prospect ; 
and when Frangoise further went on to arrange that 
Madame la belle mere should help Muriel to buy 
dresses in the French style, which was — oh, so much 
more beautiful than the English style, Muriel, proud 
English girl that she was, forgot her dislike to her 
new friend, and ceased to think of resigning her own 
position as a member of the Committee of la Societe 
de Joie. 

Meanwhile two girls, unobserved by either Muriel 
or Frangoise, stepped out of the little bower in the 
rose garden, and began to walk rapidly, arm in arm, 


272 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 


together. These girls were Jeanne Gerusez and Ed- 
mee Leroux. Edmee was expostulating with some 
fervour, and Jeanne was talking to her in very ear- 
nest tones. 

“ I say that thou wilt do it, cherie Edmee,” was 
her remark; “ for I know — I will not tell how; I 
will not tell where I learnt it — that there is mischief 
afoot. I am only a little daughter of the people, as 
thou, Edmee Leroux, art also a daughter of the peo- 
ple. Nevertheless there is mischief afoot, and we 
must band together, you and I, to discover all we 
can about it; for no one will suspect us of suspect- 
ing anything. Thou, Edmee Leroux,” said Jeanne 
Gerusez, “ lovest the beautiful Joyce Selby. Thou 
dost also love that magnifique and gracious demoi- 
selle who goes by the name of Hope Ashley. I tell 
thee, Edmee Leroux, for their sakes we must com- 
bine — we must watch, we must listen, we must be 
careful. The opportunity is given to us because thou 
art to be a hostess at the great fete. On that account 
• — ah, mais oui — on that account alone — thou must 
not refuse.” 

“ If thou dost indeed think so, Jeanne Gerusez, I 
will not refuse,” said Edmee. 

“ Then that is well,” exclaimed Jeanne, “ and 
Henri and Citoyenne Pelven will assuredly help 
us.” 

The girls talked together for a little longer. They 
did not even disclose to each other their plans, but 
many, many thoughts rose in each mind; the one 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 


278 


chief and principal object in the hearts of each of 
these young girls was to save Joyce Selby from an 
unknown and yet very perceptible and real danger. 

Shortly after their brief conversation, Jeanne 
Gerusez went into the great salle or hall where the 
girls sat before retiring to rest. Those girls were 
there who had written their letters, who had bidden 
Madame la Comtesse good night, who were waiting 
for the signal which would send them to their dif- 
ferent domiciles. They were not anxious, they were 
quietly waiting. It was at this hour that Henri of 
the black, black eyes appeared to collect the letters. 
Each girl, with absolute confidence, put her letter 
into his hand; some of course had none to put, but 
all that had did so with absolute faith and a sense 
of relief. To write home was more or less tiresome. 
To keep secrets was more or less wearisome. In 
consequence of la Societe de Joie, and in conse- 
quence of many other minor societies belonging to 
the School, the girls felt themselves pulled in, at 
every turn. They could not by any possibility speak 
freely to the loved ones at home; therefore they 
wrote with a certain stiffness, a certain want of true 
confidence which would not occur in an English 
School, and which would not have happened in this 
School where Madame la Comtesse was head — 
Madame with her many English ideas and English 
desires — were it not for the existence of the So- 
ciete de Joie. But alas for Madame! She knew 
nothing whatsoever about this Societe . All she 


274 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 


could possibly guess was that mesdemoiselles had 
their own private affairs, and that she herself acted 
best for them by not interfering. 

On this special occasion there were fewer letters 
than usual for that most adorable and much es- 
teemed page-boy, Henri, to put into his bag. 

He flung them in with the quick movement of a 
professional postman. He then bade bonne nuit 
aux demoiselles and turned immediately to leave 
the premises. His work for the day was over. 

He had but to carry his bag of treasures to Xante 
Citoyenne Pelven. He had but to watch her as her 
quick eyes roamed over the letters, taking in what 
she could from the mere addresses, for with all her 
faults she was an honourable woman, and would not 
attempt to open a letter from les demoiselles. As, 
however, on this occasion Henri was about to start 
off at a swinging pace through the grounds and along 
the straight road which led to Tourelle, he was 
startled by a touch, light as a feather, on his shoul- 
der. He gave a quite perceptible start, and saw 
the well-known face and figure of Jeanne Gerusez, 
that maiden whom he and his aunt had stigmatised 
as La vipere. He felt a slight degree of shame now 
as he looked at Jeanne’s anxious eyes, and perceived 
by the light of the moon her troubled face. 

“ Henri,” exclaimed Jeanne, “ I am not, believe 
me, doing anything that would be called wrong. I 
have obtained permission from Madame la Com- 
tesse de Tres to spend this night with la famille of 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 


275 


Edmee Laroux in the rue St. Honore , and I thought 
I would go with you first, Henri, and watch you 
and Citoyenne Pelven as you look at the writing 
on the letters. Afterwards perhaps, Henri, you will 
conduct me to the home of my friend in the rue St. 
Honore .” 

“ Mais certainement , mademoiselle ” replied 

Henri. He felt, however, most uncomfortable. 

Jeanne trotted along contentedly by his side. As 
they approached the flickering lights of the little 
town, she said in her soft Southern voice: 

“ Thou dost not mind, Henri, that I have dis- 
covered thy secret ? Thou art but a poor boy of the 
people, and I am — I am a demoiselle of the people. 
My kind friends, Edmee Leroux’s people, who are 
also related to me, have invited me to spend this 
night with them, and Madame — ah, Madame, she 
is always gracious — she gives the necessary permis- 
sion. I have known for a long time, Henri, that 
thou and thy good aunt, Citoyenne Pelven, read the 
addresses on our letters. You have done good, not 
harm, by so acting ; and think not for a moment that 
I will tell; that I will take the post of page-boy 
from thee, Henri, or injure thy good and worthy 
aunt. I know that she does call me la vipere . Ah, 
Henri, thou hast cause to blush, for I do not indeed 
belong to that venomous species. And I want you 
to help me — to help me to save, yes, to save one who 
is most dear to me because she belongs to my dearest 


276 


PAUVRE LA VIPERE. 


friend in the School. Comprenez-vous, Henri ? 
Comprenez-vous the words of la vipere ? ” 

“ I beg a thousand pardons, mademoiselle,” said 
Henri. “ I will speak to my good aunt, ‘ the lit- 
tle mother/ as I call her. She will receive thee 
with open arms, mademoiselle.” 

By and by they reached the patisserie of that ex- 
cellent woman, Citoyenne Pelven. The good Ci- 
toyenne was very much startled when she saw the 
little black-robed vipere entering her abode; hut 
by and by they had a long talk together, the result 
of which was that Citoyenne went on her knees, al- 
lowed the tears to flow rapidly from her jet-black 
eyes, and confessed that Jeanne Gerusez, instead of 
being a vipere was an angel — ah, oui , an angel! 
and of the most heavenly sort. Henri was taken 
into full confidence. The coming fete was discussed 
between the three. Citoyenne Pelven’s black eyes 
flashed as she promised to do her utmost — yes, her 
very utmost ; and eventually Henri and little 
Jeanne Gerusez started off in the direction of the 
rue St. Honore, where the large and flourishing 
house of M. Leroux, the vine-grower, was situated. 

“Ah, oui, oui” said Citoyenne to herself, after 
the girl and boy had departed. “ How little dost 
thou know, thou foolish soul? La mademoiselle 
c 3 est bonne, c'est bonne . She and that good Edmee, 
and myself and Henri my nephew, we will in very 
truth save the School. She is no vipere, is little 
Jeanne Gerusez, but an angel of light; and she has 


PAUVRE EA YIPERE. 


277 


-come in the nick of time. I respect her, I adore 
her, I grieve mightily for what I said against her; 
but, ah, cest vrai, cest vrai , the human heart makes 
mistakes. I thought her a vipere in very truth; 
but it is the other who is a cobra — nay, more, a boa- 
constrictor, nest-ce pas? Will she not try to crush 
the life out of the School? Ah, hut she shall not; 
it cannot be. The little angel comes in time to pre- 
vent, and the little angel conquers the powers of 
darkness.” 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 

Whatever steps may or may not have been taken 
by Citoyenne Pelven, by Henri, by Jeanne Gerusez, 
by Edmee Leroux, the preparations for the feast — 
for the great, magnificent fete — went on without in- 
terruption. The letters were carefully written ; they 
were written, of course, in the Erench tongue; and 
each letter was read by Joyce Selby before she af- 
fixed her signature, under which immediately was 
placed the signature of Hope Ashley, under which 
again appeared the signatures of Muriel St. John, 
Juliette de Tournay, the Comtesse Caterina, Eran- 
Qoise Dupuis, and finally the name of Edmee Le- 
roux. It took some little time to write all these let- 
ters and to affix the signatures properly. They 
could not possibly be done in the great front attic, 
for that would be giving away the secret of la So - 
ciete de Joie. It was therefore arranged that the 
girls who wrote the letters should meet in the sum- 
merhouse, and standing by the central table should 
each read over each letter and each append her own 
signature. 

At last the task was finished, and Henri was corn- 
278 


THE PALE-BLUE DBESS. 


279 


missioned to convey the different letters to the vari- 
ous invited guests. There was a slight difference 
between those letters which were addressed to the 
School generally, and those which were addressed 
to the Staff. There was again a still greater dif- 
ference in the letter which was sent to la Comtesse 
de Tres. But be the difference what it might, the 
letters were substantially the same. The under- 
signed were giving a fete ; the fete was to take place 
on the twenty-first of June; it was to take place in 
the grounds; and the undersigned were to act as 
hostesses. The fete would commence at seven 
-o’clock in the evening to the moment, and would end 
at midnight. Nothing whatever was said with re- 
gard to the nature of the fete, but there was a joy- 
ousness in the whole tone of the invitation, which 
prophesied well for the great occasion. 

Joyce having got her invitations off her mind, 
now turned her attention to other matters. She 
went herself in the company of Edmee Leroux to 
have a long interview with Citoyenne Pelven, and 
her orders for different refreshments were certainly 
on a most lavish scale. The marquee was pro- 
cured, where the different refreshments would be 
spread out; and Joyce ordered six different tents 
which were to stand at intervals over the lawns on 
this great occasion. The excitement of the School 
became great, it became indeed furious. What was 
that lovely, rich English girl going to do? What 
unexpected fun and pleasure lay before them? 


280 


THE PALE-BLUE DEESS. 


They were quite clever enough, these French demoi- 
selles, to guess that the real mistress of the cere- 
monies was Joyce Selby, and that the names of the 
other hostesses were simply used for effect. Never- 
theless the hostesses in question were by no means 
allowed to be idle. They must, whatever happened, 
take their parts, receive their guests, and attend to 
each minutia of the programme which Joyce marked 
out. She had everything very clear in her compact 
little head, and she and Hope consulted much over 
the matter. For a time everything seemed to go 
very smoothly. There were several weeks to run be- 
tween now and the twenty-first of June ; and during 
that time the hostesses, by the express permission 
of Madame la Comtesse, were allowed to take pos- 
session of the summerhouse. It no longer, there- 
fore, for the present belonged to the Societe de Joie; 
it belonged, in fact, to the great fete given by the 
English heiress, Joyce Selby, of Coning’ s Tower 
Castle in Warwickshire. Madame had given strict 
orders that no one was to interfere with the young 
hostesses; they were to meet whenever they liked in 
the summerhouse, and anyone who attempted to dis- 
turb them, would do so under extreme displeasure. 

The first jar or blot in the arrangements arose 
from the fact that Frangoise Dupuis had written to 
la belle mere for a dress of the most charming, most 
exquisite, and palest shade of blue. Madame la 
belle mere had taken pleasure in carrying out her 
stepdaughter’s instructions, and the dress arrived. 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


281 


The dress was — oh, ravishing. Muriel felt a degree 
of envy flashing through her mind when she noticed 
its extreme grace and elegance. 

“ Even an ugly girl would look well in such a 
dress,” she said to herself; and then she looked at 
Frangoise, observing the pallor of her light-blue 
eyes, the pallor of her cheeks, her unimportant, mean 
little features, and said to herself that her quondam 
friend, who had long ceased to be her friend at 
heart, was certain to look well in this forget-me-not 
blue dress. She remarked with an inward shudder 
how clever was Frangoise, how well she knew what 
would suit her ; for the blue would add colour to her 
eyes, and a delicate sort of transparency to her 
cheeks. With a little care she could even look passa- 
ble on this great occasion. Muriel, who had a good 
deal of taste for dress, felt certain that she could 
arrange the hair of the daughter of the French avo - 
cat so as to make her look very well on the occasion 
of the fete. As this thought flashed through her 
mind, Frangoise raised her pale-blue eyes and said 
in an imploring voice to Muriel: 

“ I am fair and ugly ; you are fair and beautiful. 
If you, Muriel, will dress my hair for me on the 
evening of the fete, I will ask la belle mere to send 
you a dress in every respect to correspond with mine. 
She will do it in a moment, for she is rich, ma belle 
mere, and wishes me to make friends in the School. 
And I have spoken to her of you, Muriel, and she 
approves of you and will give you a dress the coun- 


282 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


terpart of mine. I will write to her if you, on your 
part, will promise to arrange my hair as it ought to 
be done. It is not nearly so golden as yours, but it 
is my best feature after all, and could be made the 
most of. Will you do this for me chere Muriel ? 99 

Muriel could not quite understand why a choking 
and angry sensation rose up in her heart; but before 
she had time to make a single reply the joyous little 
face of Edmee Leroux peeped into the bower in the 
rose garden. Her lips made a sudden exclamation 
as she noticed the lovely dress, and then she said : 

“ You are wanted, both of you, to come imme- 
diately into the summerhouse. All the rest of the 
hostesses are present, and you must come and — and 
quickly, or you will be late.” 

“ If I were you,” said Muriel, suddenly turning 
to Frangoise, “ I would bring the lovely dress with 
me. The other hostesses will like to look at it.” 

Edmee gave a start of some dismay, half-opened 
her lips to speak, but on second thoughts, held her 
tongue. The dress was quickly placed in its box, 
and the three girls sped across the lawn. 

“ I sent for you all,” said Joyce, “ to speak on a 
matter of some importance. Ah, Erangoise, you are 
bringing a box with you.” 

“ Yes,” replied Frangoise, “the box contains my 
dress — the dress that I shall wear on the night when 
I am one of your hostesses, Joyce. My good step- 
mother ordered it for me in Paris, and it has just 
arrived. You would like to see it, peui-eireV ' 



••£=- i — .\ZVVer\r\ 


As she spoke she lifted the dress from its box . — Page 283 














































m ■ 

































THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


283 


Joyce was silent, but her pretty face with its glow- 
ing colour turned a trifle pale. Frangoise noticed 
nothing ; she was absorbed in the ecstasy of unfold- 
ing her exquisite dress. 

u See, see,” she cried, “ the little shoes the same 
colour, the fan the same shade, the wreath of for- 
get-me nots to twine round the hair, which could 
only be made in that city of delight, Paris ; and now, 
now, mesdemoiselles, behold the dress ! Is it not at 
once simple, elegant, superb ? ” 

As she spoke she lifted the dress from its box 
and held it out for the other girls to look at. 

“ You will like me in a dress like this, won’t you, 
Joyce ? ” she cried, and for the time being her face 
was amiable and her eyes bright with happiness. 

Joyce Selby gave a short, quick sigh; then she 
gathered herself together. She felt like one for 
whom a trap had been laid, but she was not going 
for a single instant to fall into its midst. 

“ Dear Frangoise,” she remarked, “ the dress is, 
as you say, most beautiful, and it would — yes, it 
would suit you ; and it — yes, it seems a pity.” 

“What do you mean by a pity?” asked Fran- 
goise, all the light of joy leaving her face, and her old 
discontented expression returning. 

“ I only mean this,” said J oyce, “ that I thought 
you knew. It was arranged some time ago. We 
left — oh, I remember now — you had a headache and 
could not be present; but Muriel was present, and 


284 


THE PALE-BLUE DEESS. 


Muriel lias always seemed to be a great friend of 
yours.” 

“ So she is, of course she is,” said Frangoise, 
catching Muriel’s arm in a sort of vise, and drag- 
ging her forward as she spoke. “ Muriel St. J ohn, 
you are my friend, my great friend.” 

“ Well, we left it to her to tell you,” said Joyce. 
“ We thought she would naturally tell you at once. 
The hostesses are all to he in white, very, very sim- 
ple white, made of muslin clear and cool — clear, 
cool, and very soft. They are to he arranged in a 
sort of Watteau style and will reach the ground at 
the back, not more in any case than four inches. 
The shoes are also to he white, and the stockings, 
and there is to be no ornament of any sort whatso- 
ever, except the badge of the hostess, which I my- 
self will have the honour of presenting to each host- 
ess on the night of the fete. I will not tell you be- 
forehand what that badge will be, for that is my 
secret, small and secure. Frangoise, I am truly 
sorry, but you cannot wear that lovely blue frock 
on the night of the fete unless, indeed, you give up 
being a hostess.” 

“ And that I will not do — that I cannot do,” said 
Frangoise. 

“Very well, we will leave it so. Your dress is 
being made, all the dresses are being made, in the 
house under my special directions. They are my 
gift to the hostesses; their aim is simplicity. They 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


285 


signify a pure heart, which, I trust, as far as possi- 
ble, we all possess.” 

The beautiful blue dress was swept out of sight, 
and then Joyce continued: 

“ I am exceedingly sorry for you, Erangoise, and 
cannot imagine how Muriel forgot, for she certainly 
gave me one of your dresses to copy.” 

“ She did not forget,” said Erangoise in her sulk- 
iest voice, and she sat down on a corner of the bench 
which ran round the summerhouse. No one could 
call her face even approaching beauty now; there 
was even a malignancy in her glance as she turned 
and looked for a minute at Muriel. It was a swift 
glance, a vindictive glance, from which Muriel 
turned away. 

“ I have now sent for you,” continued Joyce, “ to 
read aloud to you a few verses which I heartily wish 
were better, but which I intend to be sung by a choir 
in white, as Madame la Comtesse approaches the 
largest tent, which Hope Ashley and I have reserved 
for her honour. She knows nothing whatever about 
the verses, and nothing whatever about the tent ; and 
after we have brought her some refreshments from 
the marquee, she will of course join the rest of the 
girls. For it is not at all our dear Madame’s way 
to make herself in any sense of the word exclusive. 
Will you kindly, Muriel St. John, read these words 
and see if they satisfy the sentiments of the other 
hostesses. I can only say that I am not a great poet, 
and wish with all my heart I could do better.” 


286 


THE PALE-BLUE DEESS. 


As Joyce spoke she passed a paper across the table 
to Muriel, hut to the astonishment of everyone 
present Muriel did not take it up. She nodded to 
Hope, who immediately turning to Joyce, said: 

“ Shall I read your lines, dear Joyce ? ” 

Joyce nodded. Hope had a very beautiful voice, 
and the ringing sort of measure she now put into 
the very simple words had their due effect on all 
present. 

“ You will please imagine,” she began, “ that on 
the great occasion of the fete these words will be 
sung, not read. They will be sung by twelve white- 
robed maidens, who will take different parts, and 
who will be, from this moment, most carefully 
trained. This is exactly how J oyce Selby has written 
them. Imagine to yourselves the scene, the sunshine, 
the happiness.” 

There was a little pause. Then Hope read in her 
sweet, melodious voice the following words: 

“Come shine, come rain, come joy, come pain, 

We claim this day, this longest day, 

To greet our young companions gay. 

With them we dance across the lawn, 

With them we watch the summer dawn; 

To us comes pleasure 
In fullest measure. 

We are young, we are gay, we are glad; 

We refuse beyond words to be sad. 

Trouble may come by and by; 

We will not believe it nigh. 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


28 r 


Why should we meet its gloom on this summer day, 

This day of June with the heart of May? 

We cannot, we will not, be sad; 

In our innermost hearts we are glad. 

For are not the roses in flower? 

Do not the honeysuckles scent our bower? 

Mesdemoiselles, behold! we love you; 

Teachers, behold! we adore you. 

Madame la Comtesse, we cluster at your feet; 

Here and now, most beloved, in your School, we greet 
you; 

Here and now, most dear, we show our love to you. 

Beloved Madame, in future we go your way; 

We go your way each day, all day, every day. 

Chere Madame, the School does you greet; 

Your scholars surround you and fall at your feet.” 

The verses died away. Hope’s happy power of 
putting immense expression into each word she ut- 
tered was not lost on the present occasion. The 
young Committee of la Societe de Joie, the young 
hostesses of the great fete, all alike felt that no sing-' 
ing voices could equal the melody and passion and 
power of this speaking voice. A lump arose in more 
than one young throat; more than one girl looked 
with adoration at Joyce Selby; more than one girl 
looked with admiration unspeakable at Hope Ashley, 
with her beautiful gift of voice, which in itself was 
as great as the gift of song. 

The only person who was quite silent, who made 
no remark of any sort, was Frangoise Dupuis. She 
had laid one very thin hand on the box which con- 


288 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


tained her beautiful pale-blue dress. When the 
reading bad come to an end, she was the first to rise, 
bolding the box which contained her treasure se- 
curely under her arm. 

“ Is there anything more you wish to say to us, 
Mademoiselle J oyce ? ” she enquired. 

“ Nothing at all to-day, Frangoise,” replied Joyce, 
her voice and eyes alike full of pity. 

Frangoise took no notice whatsoever of the pity- 
ing eyes and pitying voice. 

“ Then, 'pour moi, I will depart,” she said. 

Muriel was about to accompany her, but with a 
wave of her hand she motioned her back. 

As soon as ever Frangoise and her box, with its 
pale-blue shimmering robe, had passed out of sight, 
Joyce turned to Muriel. 

“ At the best of it, Muriel,” she remarked, “ yes, 
at the best of it — and I will not impute unkind mo- 
tives to anyone — it seems a very sad pity that you 
should not have mentioned to Frangoise that all the 
hostesses without a single exception were to wear 
white Watteau dresses. Doubtless you forgot, 
Muriel ; but it does seem a sad pity.” 

“ Of course I forgot,” said Muriel. “ Do you 
think I did it on purpose? Frangoise is a very vain 
little thing and thought to overcome her ugliness by 
means of dress. For my part ” — here she gave a 
harsh, discordant laugh — “ I think the lesson she is 
learning serves her right.” 

“ And I do not,” said Joyce. “ These are not, in 


THE PALE-BLTJE DRESS. 


289 


the ordinary sense of the word, lessons at all. They 
hurt most cruelly ; they utterly destroy the spirit of 
good that is in one. If it were not too late — far too 
late, I would have all the hostesses in palest of blue. 
I hate hurting a girl’s feelings.” 

“ Well, thank goodness, it is too late,” said Muriel. 
“ With all your haute noblesse , Joyce Selby, you are 
trying to spoil that worthless girl, Erangoise Dupuis. 
Oh, if you hut knew ; if you could only guess ! ” 

“ If I knew what ? If I could guess what \ ” 
asked Joyce. 

“ Ah, I must not tell,” replied Muriel. “ There 
are secrets within secrets in this School, nest-ce pas, 
Edmee Leroux ? ” 

Edmee’s bright little face turned pale; she gazed 
at Muriel in untold amazement but did not open her 
lips. Meanwhile further arrangements were being 
made for the approaching fete. The dress of the 
fairies was being arranged, the dance of the fairies 
was to be practised. Ho expense was to be spared. 
If, on a great occasion like the present, everyone did 
not do of their uttermost best, Joyce Selby felt that 
she would sink into the very ground with shame. 
The fairies were all without exception belonging to 
the Societe de Joie . Each fairy was to wear a dif- 
ferent-coloured robe, light and thin as gossamer; 
some were to appear in purple and grey; some in 
blue and mauve; some again in white and pink; 
some, yet again, were to emulate the magnificent 
shades of the beautiful sweet peas. The whole ef- 


290 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


feet was to be dazzling; and on the bead of each 
fairy was to be carefully placed a tiny electric lamp, 
which was to mingle with the flowers round the same 
head, and was to give the effect of a shining star. 
The fairies would not appear upon the scene until 
the first refreshments, at least, had come to an end. 
They were then to rush forward in a gay band — a 
band of irrepressible mirth. Laughter was to issue 
from their lips; the little fairy light was to reflect 
its brilliance into their eyes; their dress itself was 
to single them out as fairies in the true sense of the 
word. They were to intertwine hands and arms; 
they were to dance in groups and singly; they were 
to be here, there, and everywhere ; the fairies would, 
in short, make a very great feature of the entertain- 
ment. 

J oyce, as usual, was ready with her purse and her 
suggestions. Nothing would induce her to have any- 
thing but the very best at the fete which Madame la 
Comtesse honoured by her presence. But while 
there was mirth and laughter and eager conversation 
going on between the young promoters of the fete, 
Muriel St. John was watching her opportunity to 
glide away. She was really afraid of Frangoise; 
she wanted to make friends with Frangoise, and as 
quickly as possible. Joyce, however, and also Hope, 
seemed to read her design in her eyes, and whenever 
she approached the door of the summerhouse, they 
called her back to ask her advice on this point and 
the other. On another occasion Muriel would have 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


291 


been flattered, but now sbe was too miserable to be 
flattered. She could only think of what might her 
come of her if Frangoise really turned against her. 

At last, however, the meeting of the hostesses came 
to an end. The girls dispersed here and there in 
the soft delicious summer breeze. They all talked 
eagerly, rapidly, impulsively; and naturally their 
one subject was the fete — the coming fete. 

As soon as ever she found herself alone, Muriel 
set to work to search for Frangoise. Her uneasiness 
grew very great when she could not see her any- 
where ; it was one of the most stringent rules of the 
School that no demoiselle ever entered her bedroom 
without special leave during the daytime. But 
Muriel was now so miserable that she resolved to 
break this rule, and search for Frangoise in that lit- 
tle cubicle which had at one time been the home of 
prayer of some deeply religious nun. Frangoise be- 
ing a French girl, slept in one of the lower dormi- 
tories, and Muriel ran quickly down the length of the 
great corridor which led into the different cubicles. 
As a rule, during the daytime, the curtains of the 
said cubicles were drawn back to their fullest extent, 
and the French windows were fastened back so as to 
allow as much summer air and sunshine as possi- 
ble to invade the otherwise narrow premises. As 
Muriel approached, walking quickly and humming 
a little song under her breath, she observed with a 
beating heart that one curtain was drawn — drawn 
fully and right across. She even heard the sound 


292 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


of voices; the voices that she distinctly recognised 
were those of Jeanne Gerusez and Edmee Leroux. 
But another voice, somewhat different from theirs* 
joined in. This voice Muriel had no difficulty in 
recognising as the voice of her own special friend, 
Frangoise Dupuis. There was a sob in the girl’s 
throat, joined to a certain sensation which might 
he revenge, which might he anger, which might, in 
short, he anything. Muriel felt that all her fears 
were justified. She tapped impatiently on the panel 
which supported the curtain at one side of the little 
cubicle. Instantly on doing this there was silence 
within; then Jeanne Gerusez put out her face. 

“What is it you want, Muriel St. John?” was 
her remark. “ You cannot possibly come in here. 
We are occupied; go away please.” 

“ Yes, go away please,” said the kinder tone of 
Edmee Leroux. 

Muriel could have stamped her foot, but she re- 
strained herself. After a minute’s pause she said : 

“ I have come to seek my friend, Frangoise Du- 
puis. I have something of importance to say to her ; 
and please understand, mesdemoiselles, that you have 
none of you any right to be in your cubicles in the 
daytime, and that I can report on this conduct if I 
wish.” 

There came a laugh from inside the room — a bit- 
ter, very sour sort of laugh. Muriel distinctly 
heard the words spoken. 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


293 


u Tell her to do her worst; tell her Pm not the 
least afraid of her.” 

But at the same moment, Jeanne was pushed aside 
and Edmee stood in the little opening made by the 
drawn-back curtain. 

“ I think,” she said in her pleasant voice, “ that 
it would be wisest for you to leave us for the pres- 
ent, Muriel; and I do not consider,” she continued, 
11 that you can possibly make a complaint, for you 
yourself, in coming to seek a girl here, distinctly 
break the rules. Go away now, please; I assure 
you it will be wisest and best.” 

“ So you say,” remarked Muriel ; but she knew 
there was absolute truth in the words, and she re- 
tired, having fully made up her mind not to take 
any steps that might injure Frangoise Dupuis. It 
suddenly darted through her brain that if only she 
herself had not been so mean and spiteful as not to 
tell Frangoise of the proposed dress for the host- 
esses, all might possibly be well. Even now was it 
too late? Joyce seemed greatly disturbed at having 
hurt Frangoise in not allowing her to wear the 
lovely blue dress. A similar blue dress would suit 
Muriel herself to perfection. Suppose — oh, sup- 
pose she saw Joyce and implored of her not to de- 
stroy Frangoise’s happiness; in short, to allow all 
the hostesses to appear in blue? Money was of no 
moment to Joyce — there was heaps of time for this 
alteration, and the white dresses would come in 
later, they need not be thrown away. Muriel was a 


294 ' 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


very impulsive girl; her eyes were now exceedingly 
bright with excitement, and after some little dif- 
ficulty she found Joyce surrounded as usual by a 
bevy of her friends. These girls looked anything but 
favourably at Muriel; but both Hope and Joyce 
gave her their usual cordial greeting. As a matter 
of fact they were both sorry for her. They were 
greatly disgusted with her conduct, but that did not 
prevent their being sorry. Muriel came quickly for- 
ward. 

“ Joyce, Joyce ! ” she exclaimed. “ May I speak 
to you quite alone ? ” 

"Metis oui, certainement ” replied Joyce. She 
rose as she spoke, nodded brightly to her young com- 
panions, and followed Muriel across the grounds and 
into the beechwood. 

“ I can quite understand that you are sorry, 
Muriel,” she said ; “ and your coming to see me and 
speak to me alone proves the fact. My dear, dear 
friend, it does seem such a cruel pity to do a mean 
or a wrong action ; such actions are like birds — birds 
of ill omen; they invariably come home to roost.” 

“ But I was thinking — thinking,” said Muriel in 
a choking voice, “ that perhaps you — you, Joyce, 
could put the wrong right. You yourself partly sug- 
gested it, didn’t you ? ” 

“What did I suggest?” asked Joyce in a tone 
of some wonder. 

“ Why you — you hinted that it was very cruel on 
Prangoise to prohibit her wearing her blue dress; 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


295 


and you hinted further that all the hostesses might 
he in blue instead of white, wearing the same ex- 
ceedingly delicate and very beautiful shade which the 
dress of Frangoise is composed of.” 

Joyce gave herself a sort of impatient shake. 

u For a moment the idea did flash through my 
mind,” she said, “ but I assure you, Muriel, it was 
only for a moment. Nothing would induce the other 
hostesses to submit to the vargaries of one, however 
sorry we may feel for that one. It can’t be done, 
Muriel, and there is no use talking about it. Had 
you fulfilled your mission and gone straight to 
Frangoise and told her about the exact dresses that 
the hostesses would wear, her belle mere could have 
had it made for her in Paris, in the Watteau style 
and with all the finish which a Parisian dress at- 
tains to. It seems a sad pity, Muriel, that you did 
not tell. For my part I cannot possibly understand 
your conduct.” 

“ I — I forgot,” said Muriel, in a muffled tone. “ I 
would have told her had I remembered.” She 
stopped abruptly; then she continued, bringing out 
her words very fast, “ You don’t know how she feels 
it. She is fearfully cut up.” 

“ I’m afraid I cannot help,” said J oyce, and the 
tone of Joyce Selby at that moment was like ice. 
“ I did not think — no, I did not think, that you 
would stoop to a great untruth , Muriel St. John. 
You are an English girl, and we of England abhor 
lies. How can you pretend that you forgot, when 


296 


THE PALE-BLUE DRESS. 


you gave us one of Frangoise’s dresses to copy? I 
am ashamed of you, Muriel; yes, most bitterly 
ashamed.” 

It was impossible even for Muriel to guess that 
one who was usually so bright, so gay, so full of la 
joie de vivre, could look as Joyce looked then; that 
her deep, dark eyes could flash as they did at that 
moment; that the indignant colour could mount to 
her cheeks ; and that she should turn absolutely away, 
utterly and completely forsaking Muriel, who found, 
indeed, at that instant, that the way of transgress- 
ors is hard. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


RESPITE. 

On the evening of that same day, Edmee Leroux, 
accompanied by Jeanne Gerusez and Frongoise Du- 
puis, and accompanied also by Henri Sarci, might 
have been seen leaving the grounds of La Chapello 
together. The days were getting long now ; the even- 
ings were stretching out. A beautiful golden night 
seemed to lie upon the land. 

Edmee Leroux had obtained permission from 
Madame la Comtesse de Tres to take her friend, 
Jeanne Gerusez, and her other friend, Frangoise Du- 
puis, to spend the night in the great house of the 
vine-grower in the rue St. Honore. There was noth- 
ing to prevent the acceptance of this little treat, and 
Madame was glad that Edmee should invite her 
friends to her father’s magnificent house and enter- 
tain them there after her own fashion. The confer^ 
ence between the girls had been made in the cubicle 
of Frangoise Dupuis, and all arrangements were 
quickly carried into effect Madame having given 
permission, the next thing was to secure the services 
of that model page-boy, Henri; for he was to con- 
duct the young ladies to the rue St. Honore . He was 
297 


298 


EESPITE. 


to take them there and leave them there ; and no one 
suspected anything underhand, or in any sense low, 
in the proceedings. Henri appeared, as usual, in 
the great salle to receive his letters, and was imme- 
diately afterwards joined in the grounds by three 
black-robed little figures, namely — Edmee, Jeanne 
Gerusez and Frangoise Dupuis. Henri seemed to be 
in strange spirits, and when they got outside the 
grounds and found themselves on the straight, dusty 
high road, he gave vent to a little chuckle, which oc- 
casionally indeed reached a sort of houp-la, an ex- 
pression of which the said Henri was very fond. 
The girls themselves were almost silent, but Henri 
kept up a chatter of small talk. The moon shone 
brightly on the four little figures, and no one no- 
ticed on this night, which might really be called a 
summer’s night, the silence of the three girls, the 
ecstasy and immeasurable delight of the one boy. 

“ Houp-la ! houp-la ! ” cried Henri again and yet 
again; and then he conducted the demoiselles quite 
away from the magnificent residence of Edmee Le- 
roux’s father, and approached that winding street 
where Citoyenne Pelven lived. Her dutiful nephew 
had given this good woman time to prepare for her 
guests, and she had cups of smoking hot chocolat 
mixed with whipped cream, awaiting their pleasure ; 
and a great “ plat ” as she called it, which contained 
gateaux and various other dainty sweetmeats. 

“ Ah, mes enfants , mes enfants ! ” she cried, and 
she took the hands of the two girls, Jeanne Gerusez 


RESPITE. 


299 


and Edmee Leroux. She then looked inquisitively 
into the flushed face of Frangoise Dupuis. u I used 
to call this chere demoiselle e la vipere/ " she said, 
laying her hand on Jeanne’s little shoulder. “ I 
made my mistake — a mistake of the greatest, for I 
compared one of the angels of Heaven to a venomous 
beast. Ah, but there is another demoiselle at La 
Chapelle on whom I have conferred the name of 
' la cobra' ; can she possibly be standing before me? 
Am I wrong in all my ideas ? ” 

Frangoise burst into a low and nervous laugh. 

“ I am the one you have called ' la cobra / 1 Ma- 
dame/' she said ; “ but I wish to tell you, here and 
now, that the real cobra is not myself, but is one who 
is known in the School of La Chapelle as Muriel St. 
John. She wishes to effect the ruin of one Joyce 
Selby, because the gracious and good Joyce has ex- 
cited her envy and jealousy, and because the gra- 
cious and bountiful Joyce wishes to help the poor 
and hungry and suffering of Tourelle. She earnestly 
begged of me to help her to this end. She put upon 
me the work of the most — oh, the most abominable, 
wishing to keep out of it herself. But, Citoyenne 
Pelven, I refuse in future to have anything to do 
with Muriel St. John. She is not my friend. Ed- 
mee Leroux is my friend, Jeanne Gerusez is my 
friend, but not — oh, not Muriel. She may go her 
own way — I care not; for I hate her — oh, most 
mightily. She has done me a cruel, a spiteful 
wrong; and I, Frangoise Dupuis, daughter of the 


300 


RESPITE. 


Parisian avocal, refuse to have anything to say to 
her or her doings in the future. Peut-etre , Ci- 
toyenne, she may find other demoiselles to carry out 
her wicked ways, hut I — I refuse. I belong to 
Jeanne, I belong to Edmee, I belong to Joyce and to 
Hope. I will not touch that canaille which is called 
by the name of Muriel St. John. 

“ And thou dost right, mon enfant ” said the 
Citoyenne in a voice of great triumph. “ How drink 
thy chocolat while it is hot ; and munch thy 
gateaux , which are fresh and delicieux. Afterwards 
we will talk a little. Thou art right, mon enfant; 
and thou art not, indeed, a cobra. Ah! what mis- 
takes this pauvre citoyenne does make ! ” 

The girls sat down to their meal, which, truth to 
tell, they heartily enjoyed, and Henri stood by and 
helped them, his aunt promising him an excellent 
supply of hot and nourishing viands when he had 
conducted les demoiselles to the rue St. Honore, but 
on no account before. 

“ For it is not right,” said Madame, “ that thou 
shouldst sit with les demoiselles of La Chapelle, 
little son; but thy turn will come afterwards. Ah, 
but there is little to fear.” 

“ Little mother,” replied Henri, “ I trust thee 
from the bottom of my heart.” 

So the cakes were eaten, the hot nourishing choco- 
late partaken of; and then Erangoise, in a few terse 
and indignant words, told the good Citoyenne exactly 
what had befallen her on that day. 


BESPITE. 


301 


cc Ah, but it was a mean, mean act,” said Ci- 
toyenne. “ And to think that the real cobra is after 
all Mademoiselle Muriel St. John! Mais oui, mais 
oui , it is tres difficile for a poor woman to under- 
stand. First thou wert la vipere , little Jeanne; then 
thou wert la cobra , Mamzelle Frangoise Dupuis; 
and now the real cobra turns out to be Mamzelle 
Muriel St. John. Ah, well, well, if we save our gra- 
cious ladies from spies and plots, all will turn out 
for the best.” 

The three girls gazed at the good Citoyenne with 
extreme earnestness. It seemed to Jeanne that she 
already knew her well. As to Edmee, had she not 
ever and always been her dear friend? Had it not 
been her joy to bring Citoyenne Pelven the first and 
finest of the early grapes that grew on the rugged 
hill-side. Had she not given them with a tender 
love, which shone in her big brown eyes and trembled 
round her expressive lips. Yes, beyond doubt these 
two girls knew the Citoyenne and loved her ; hut up to 
the present, Frangoise had not even met her — Fran- 
goise, who was mentioned by her as * la cobra , la 
boa-constrictor Frangoise, who was ugly of the 
ugly; whose mean, small features could not but at- 
tract attention the very reverse of favourable. And 
yet it was on this special occasion that Frangoise 
declared herself ; that, in short, she opened her heart. 
She rose from her seat by the little, round table, and 
going up to the Citoyenne, put her thin arms round 
the good woman’s neck. 


302 


RESPITE. 


“ Ah, love me, love me, even though I am ugly,” 
cried Frangoise. “ Love me just because I am my- 
self — a lonely girl pining for love. Love me because 
I want your love, chere Citoyenne; won’t you — 
won’t you try ? ” 

As she spoke, tears filled the small, blue eyes. A 
look of tenderness and deep affection softened and 
changed the meagre features. Citoyenne Pelven felt 
her great heart rise to the occasion. 

“ Ma pauvre, ma pauvre ! ” she cried, and she 
clasped the lonely girl to her breast. She held her 
there, very firm, very close, for a moment or two; 
and when at last she loosened her embrace, there were 
tears in the jet-black eyes as well as in the pale- 
blue ones. 

“ Yes, ma pauvre , I will love thee,” she remarked. 
“ It is a fait accompli. Ah, see, behold ! — the Al- 
mighty did never bless me with a daughter ; but thou 
shalt be as a daughter unto me, ma pauvre ; com- 
prenez-vous, Mamzelle Frangoise Dupuis ? ” 

“ I understand and I am happy,” replied Fran- 
goise, and then the four sat down — Jeanne Gerusez, 
she who used to be la viper e; Edmee Leroux, who 
had always loved and always been cared for; the 
stout, large Citoyenne herself; and last but by no 
means least, Frangoise Dupuis. 

“ Listen unto me, Henri, little son,” remarked 
Madame as she wiped big tears from her black eyes. 
u Listen ! hearken! and obey! I would talk with 
thee later on; but les cheres demoiselles , they come 


RESPITE. 


303 


first, and thou mayst as well post the letters. There 
is no mischief in them to-night, I feel well assured ; 
for there is no cobra and no vipere. Hasten, little 
son ; vite, vite, little son ; put the letters in the post- 
box and then return to thy aunt, who is also as a 
mother unto thee.” 

Henri, without a word, slung the post-hag on his 
sturdy hack; but as he reached the door, he made 
the solitary remark: 

“ It shall be as thou dost wish, little mother ; and 
I will return afterwards for les demoiselles ” 

“ Vite , vite , I tell thee, little son,” answered Ci- 
toyenne; and then the boy left the pretty, snug 
room, where, night after night, he enjoyed choco- 
lates and gateaux and tartlets of the best. 

When they were quite alone, Citoyenne Pelven 
spoke some very earnest and at the same time very 
matter-of-fact words to the three demoiselles who 
surrounded her. 

“ Having discovered the real cobra, we will pun- 
ish her yet,” she said ; “ and the punishment shall 
take place — ah, but listen, mes enfants ; it shall take 
place on the night of the great fete. Leave it alto- 
gether in my hands, mes enfants . I know what to 
do and how to do it. Dost thou think, Frangoise, 
thou whom I regarded as la cobra, dost thou think 
that I would let Joyce Selby come to harm? That 
I would permit Hope Ashley to suffer? Ho, my 
little cobra, and la petite vipere — I call you both by 
these names, meaning them not at all. But on the 


304 


EESPITE. 


night of the fete, there will also he the great deliv- 
erance. Now, rest easy, mes enfants. Citoyenne 
Pelven has not so long served the great School of La 
Chapelle for nothing at all. I will not tell to thee, 
or to thee, or to thee ” — here she touched lightly with 
her pudgy fat finger the hands of the three girls — 
“ I think it best to keep my secret, mes enfants ; but 
it is just possible that Henri, my little son, may 
help. But question him not, cheries. Attendez- 
vous, cheries , leave the matter in my hands.” 

The girls eagerly promised that they would do so, 
and then Citoyenne Pelven made a further remark. 

“ I would bid thee, Frangoise Dupuis, the daugh- 
ter of one who is great and rich in our beloved Paris, 
to keep thy own counsel. The dress of blue — ah, but 
I love the blue colour! — it may come in usefully; 
throw it not away, therefore, ma petite , but keep it 
until the moment comes when I, poor, humble Ci- 
toyenne Pelven, marchande de la patisserie , give unto 
thee the signal. In the meantime follow the worthy 
Joyce — for has she not in very truth the eyes of 
Spain and the heart of England. And keep also, I 
beseech of thee, Frangoise, close, very close to that 
demoiselle of high degree, Hope Ashley; for she is 
noble, great in heart. And have nought to do with 
la cobra , the real cobra , ma petite enfant 

The Citoyenne sighed a good deal as she uttered 
these last words. The three girls sighed with her; 
but none of them attempted to interfere, being abso- 


RESPITE. 


305 


lutely certain that Citoyenne Pelven knew her own 
mind, and would not he questioned by anyone. 

By and by Henri returned. He looked excited 
and pleased, and started off at once to take les 
demoiselles to the house of Monsieur Leroux. When 
the girls found themselves eventually in a large, white 
bedroom furnished in truly French style, when they 
had received a warm greeting from Madame Le- 
roux, and when M. Leroux had himself come out 
and shaken their hands and assured them of a hearty 
welcome, Frangoise turned suddenly to her com- 
panions. 

“ Edmee,” she cried; “Jeanne,” she continued, 
“ I like your brave Citoyenne ; but why must we 
keep it a secret ? Why should we know nothing — 
nothing at all of what is passing in her mind ? ” 

Edmee gave a short, almost impatient, sigh. 

“ Thou wilt do well, Frangoise,” she remarked, 
“to leave the whole base affair in hands stronger 
than thine. For thou art but a demoiselle of La 
Chapelle, and she is a woman of vast sense and 
power. She will most assuredly do the right thing. 
Am I not right Jeanne Gerusez? ” 

“ Thou art indeed right,” replied J eanne. “ Ah ! 
she continued, “ my heart is like a singing bird to- 
night.” 

“ Then you trust her absolutely ? ” replied Fran- 
coise. 

“ Most absolutely, Frangoise Dupuis. Do not at- 


306 


RESPITE. 


tempt to interfere or you will make untold mis- 
chief.” 

“ I am told,” said Frangoise after a pause, “ that 
silence is golden. I will therefore keep that golden 
silence, and will not in very truth open my lips.” 

The three girls slept comfortably in their snug 
beds, and although Frangoise awoke very early in 
the morning, and thought of La Chapelle, and 
thought also of the beautiful new home which her 
father and la belle-mere had provided for her in 
Paris, she could not but acknowledge that there was 
a richness, a dignity, a sparkling, dazzling cleanli- 
ness, about the home of that girl whom once she had 
despised — Edmee Leroux. 

The girls were not expected back to the School 
until after they had partaken of coffee and rolls; 
and such coffee and such rolls and such honey 
Frangoise had never before tasted. They were, in 
short, like nectar in her mouth; they went down 
sweetly, causing her heart to sing. Raising her eyes 
as she helped herself to another piece of honeycomb, 
she encountered the kindly glance of Madame Le- 
roux. A queer choking came into her throat. For the 
first time in her whole life it seemed to Frangoise 
that someone gazed at her with a sort of hungry com- 
passion, an all-enduring love. Why should Madame 
Leroux throw such a strange expression into her 
brown eyes ? Why should she trouble herself to care 
about the stranger girl ? But there was no mistaking 
that glance, that look, that brief and radiant smile. 


RESPITE. 


307 


Erangoise discovered suddenly why Edmee Leroux 
was so liked in the School. She was her mother’s 
own daughter, not only in feature, which was in it- 
self all that was beautiful and charming, but also 
in character, in nature. Edmee Leroux inherited 
her noble qualities from Madame Leroux. No won- 
der that Erangoise felt her poor little frozen miser- 
able semblance of a heart go out to the worthy 
woman. Madame Leroux seemed to read the ex- 
pression in the girl’s eyes, for she said in her soft, 
sweet voice : 

“ Edmee, thou little puss, thou didst not tell to 
me that thou hadst a friend in the School called 
Frangoise. Erangoise — such a name of elegance and 
beauty; and she is thy friend, my Edmee; la chere 
demoiselle shall often come here from Saturday to 
Monday if she herself wishes, and if she is not too 
proud to associate with us of the people.” 

“ Ah, but I also belong to the people,” interrupted 
Erangoise ; “ and I should love to come, that is, if I 
may.” 

“ Then thou shalt, mon enfant , upon next Satur- 
day that ever is. And Jeanne Gerusez shall come 
also, and we will chatter, chatter, chatter, and talk 
together of those things that best please the people 
of France.” 

“ I have one very great friend in the town,” said 
Erangoise. “ Her name is Citoyenne Pelven. May 
I see her also, when I come to visit thee, chere 
Madame ? ” 


308 


RESPITE. 


“ But assuredly, mon enfant*. The good Citoyenne 
is one of the best ; ah, oui , of the very best. She has 
a had husband, but I speak not of him. She is noble 
of heart, and that is the best nobility, little Fran- 
chise.” 

It was arranged before the girls returned to the 
School, which they were obliged to do in time for 
morning class, that Madame Leroux should write a 
letter of invitation for her daughter and her daugh- 
ter’s friends, Franchise Dupuis and Jeanne Gerusez, 
to spend from Saturday to Monday with her in the 
house in the rue St. Honor e. 

“ She will allow it, cheres enfants” said the good 
Madame ; “ she will allow it, I feel convinced. And 
we will have a happy time together. I love to have 
around me les jeunes filles ; ah, oui, I love it well.” 

On their way hack to School, Frangoise suddenly 
turned to Edmee and spoke. 

“ I do not wonder, Edmee Leroux,” she said, 
“ that you are loved in the School. With a mother 
like yours it could not well he otherwise, for you in- 
herit her — her nobility. Ah, bah! I used to think 
the nobles of France worth cultivating, and those 
who lived in great houses in England and belonged 
to the ancient families worth knowing. But if the 
people are represented by such as thou, Jeanne 
Gerusez, and such as thou, Edmee Leroux, I join 
hands, once and forever, with the people. For do 
they not also include la bonne Citoyenne and la bonne 
Madame votre mere, Edmee ? ” 


RESPITE. 


309 


“ Thou hast yet to learn what mon pere is like,” 
replied Edmoe in her strong, low, confiding tone. 
“ Ah, but he is great ; he would uphold the cause of 
the poor and the suffering; of the hungry and the 
naked. Thou canst not even imagine how much good 
mon pere does, Frangoise Dupuis. He is rich, but 
he thinks nothing of his riches, except inasmuch as 
those riches help him to help others who suffer and 
who want.” 

“ Then he is like — he is like Joyce Selby,” ex- 
claimed Frangoise. 

“ Ah, yes, and I want them to meet,” said Edmee, 
the brightest of bright smiles irradiating her face. 
“ But, cheres demoiselles , we must hurry or we shall 
be late for class.” 

There was no time to add another word. The 
girls quickly entered the grounds. Three or four 
minutes later they had taken their accustomed seats 
in their usual classrooms; and Frangoise, suddenly 
raising her eyes, encountered the fixed gaze of Mu- 
riel St. J ohn. She turned away instantly and buried 
herself in the lessons she was preparing. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


FOILED. 

Muriel St. John certainly felt the reverse of 
comfortable. She had, as the proverb relates, fallen 
between two stools. She was no longer liked by the 
Comtesse Caterina de Mori; she was no longer en- 
dured by Mile. Juliette de Tournay; she was abso- 
lutely cut dead by that atrocious young monster 
whom she had brought forward in the School — Fran- 
Qoise Dupuis. Frangoise was, of course, still a mem- 
ber of la Societe de Joie; hut as far as could he said, 
she did not take any interest in the said Societe . 
Her eyes followed those of Joyce Selby and of Hope 
Ashley wherever they went and whatever they did. 
She enjoyed her time immensely at the house of the 
Leroux’s; she confided some of her fears, all, in 
short, that she dared confide, to Madame Leroux. 
She was, in every respect, a changed character. She 
clung to Jeanne Gerusez. Out of la Societe de Joie 
she chose Edmee Leroux, although she was no longer 
a member, as her one and special friend. There was 
not a single girl in the whole of the Society who did 
not pity Frangoise for the trick played on her by 
Muriel ; and although Muriel did her very utmost to 
310 


FOILED. 


311 


get Frangoise back again to her side, to induce her 
to establish the old relations between them, she found 
that F rangoise would have nothing whatever to say 
to her ; that those pale, disconcerting blue eyes looked 
her through and through ; that those ignoble features 
were devoid of expression ; that those lips were dumb 
in her presence. She could not account for this fact ; 
she felt both miserable and anxious ; she would have 
given a great deal to undo the past. But can we, 
any of us, undo the past ? It has gone on before us, 
that inexorable past, which will stand up and con- 
demn us some day at the Judgment Seat. 

Muriel could scarcely think of this, but there is 
no doubt whatever that a great fear oppressed her. 
She who had been practically the head of la Societe 
de Joie was now less than nobody in their midst. 
Often at night she wept silently. She was in the 
position of one who had a great deal to complain 
about and yet could not complain at all ; for each and 
every member of la Societe was kind to her — kind 
without being effusive; kind without being in any 
sense of the word, friendly. She, of course, as a 
member of the Committee, as one of the hostesses 
of the coming fete, took her due place in the summer- 
house, and gave her counsel when it was asked for; 
but it was not very often asked for, and a queer and 
strange thing seemed to have come over her. She 
found that she was not the Muriel of old. She, who 
had been full of ideas, who was sparkling, bright, 
debofinair , was now without any ideas. She was not 


312 


FOILED. 


sparkling, she was not original. However she longed 
to speak, however much she longed to propound cer- 
tain views, she discovered to her intense distress that 
she had nothing to say and no views to propound. 
She did not dare oppose Joyce Selby nor Hope Ash- 
ley nor the Countess Caterina, nor, yet again, the 
black-eyed Juliette de Tournay. No, she found her- 
self dumb in their midst. They were all quite polite 
to her ; they invariably said : 

“ You approve of this idea, do you not, Muriel ? n 

And Muriel found herself forced to say “ yes,” al- 
though she longed to say “ no.” Suddenly it oc- 
curred to her that there was an evil influence work- 
ing queer, intangible havoc in her brain; and that 
influence was entirely caused by the light-blue,, 
closely-set eyes of Frangoise Dupuis. Frangoise her- 
self was very lively ; but whenever Muriel attempted 
to speak, Frangoise’s curious eyes dashed a quick,, 
serpent-like glance at her, and she found, in spite of 
herself, that her ideas had flown. 

Meanwhile the days went by, the weeks went by- 
May merged into June, and on the 21st of June the 
great fete was to be held. It was about this time 
that there was a secret and great trying-on of dresses ; 
first and foremost the dresses of the hostesses, which, 
turned out to be in their extreme simplicity, in their 
remarkable elegance, absolutely lovely. They clung 
round the young figures; they encircled the smooth,, 
young necks ; they fell away from the softly-rounded 
arms ; they trailed the prescribed limit on the ground,, 


FOILED. 


313 


but no more. The muslin of these white dresses was 
of the very softest, and the dresses themselves were 
lined, except in the transparent bodices and the 
equally transparent sleeves, with white silk both soft 
and rich. The elegance of the costume was so ap- 
parent that Frangoise no longer sighed to wear her 
pale-blue dress. La belle mere had given her some- 
thing lovely; but the taste of Joyce Selby exceeded 
the taste of la belle mere. Frangoise felt that for 
the sake of Joyce, whom she had learnt passionately 
to love, she could and would only wear her dress, 
her simple dress of white. No one had yet seen the 
badge; it was whispered in the school that no one 
would see it until the evening of the fete. 

Muriel sincerely hoped that long ere that day ar- 
rived she would have regained her old composure, 
have stepped into her old position and been once 
more the head of la Societe de Joie . But although 
the days swept quickly by and the tenth of June ar- 
rived, the twelfth of June arrived, the fourteenth, 
the sixteenth of June arrived, there seemed to be no 
chance of her recovering the position from which she 
had fallen. That new blue dress, carefully folded 
away in one of Frangoise’ s drawers, seemed to stand 
between her and her peace. What could she do — 
what could she do? Must she go on suffering this 
torture ? Suppose she made up her mind to confess 
all to Frangoise, to entreat her forgiveness, to im- 
plore her to be as she had ever been — her great 
friend, her special friend. Oh, she must do it, she 


314 


FOLLED. 


must! The days were so few between now and the 
great magnificent fete. On a certain evening which 
was indeed the seventeenth of J une, four days exactly 
before the great day of the fete itself, a number of 
girls came out softly into the darkness. They were 
not perceived by anyone in the house, but Muriel 
saw them and guessed immediately what they meant 
and who they were. They were, in short, neither 
more nor less than her own — her very own fairies — 
the girls whom she and Caterina had trained; but 
never, never before had they looked as they did now. 
They wore the soft gossamer dress which Joyce and 
Hope had invented for them, this dress which clung 
closely to their young limbs, which spread itself out 
at the back like delicate wings, which was of all 
shades and of all colours; but the shades and the 
colours were such as must be seen best by the electric 
stars which shone steady and clear over each young 
brow. The girls might, in short, be butterflies ; they 
might be fairies; they might be angels. As they 
flitted by in their new robes, the heart of Muriel beat 
with savage anger. She could, in fact, scarcely con- 
tain herself. The beauty of the scene was unsur- 
passing. The night was a cloudy one but the fairy 
dance was a fairy dance in very truth. Hands 
touched hands, arms intermingled ; there was a rapid 
swift movement, a sort of rushing sound. Muriel 
felt down deep in her heart that she, with all her 
cleverness, could never even have dreamt of anything 
so lovely. 


FOILED. 


315 


The various lights on the young figures ; the flash- 
ing gleams which came and went on the happy faces ; 
the sense of rejoicing which seemed to pervade the 
air as the fairies flew here, flew there, flew every- 
where ; as their eyes smiled, as their lips smiled, as 
their white teeth gleamed. Altogether the effect was 
something to see, to remember, never to forget. And 
Muriel, as she hid behind a great tree, felt that she 
might be in it, in the very midst of it ; not of course 
enjoying the dance, but directing it, ministering to 
its needs; had it not been for her own conduct — 
her own horrible, low conduct. She clasped her 
hands tightly together and a faint moan passed her 
pretty lips. 

“ I’ve done for myself,” she muttered, but so low 
were her words that no one heard them. " La So- 
ciete de Joie will go on — yes, it will go on, but I 
shall be out of it forever and forever.” Large tears 
trickled down her cheeks; then she stood motionless, 
listening with all her might, listening for all that 
she was worth. Two girls passed close to her, two 
girls stood within a foot or two away ; she knew them 
well by the tones of their voices. One was Comtesse 
Caterina, the other was Frangoise Dupuis. 

“ Ah, Comtesse, Comtesse ! ” murmured the Eng- 
lish girl, speaking again in that low, unintelligible 
tone. “ Hast thou indeed forgotten that I was thy 
friend, thy very great friend? Dost thou cease to 
remember that a short time, a very short time ago, 
we were in all respects as one ? ” The low words 


316 


FOILED. 


could not reach the ears of Caterina de Mori, and 
Frangoise Dupuis was far too excited even to appre- 
hend the near vicinity of one whom she now regarded 
as her deadly foe. 

“ Frangoise ! ” muttered Muriel, “ Frangoise, 
whom I raised out of the very dirt. And yet — and 
yet she is against me; she would injure me if she 
could ; but can she ? Am I not still Muriel St. John ? 
Have I not still great power ? ” 

She crept stealthily into the deepest shadow of 
the old tree, and stood there waiting, longing beyond 
words to hear, even though what she heard would 
probably he to her own destruction. 

“Well,” said Frangoise with a deep, very deep 
sigh, “ I never could have imagined anything quite 
so beautiful, could you, Caterina ? ” 

“ Yes, I could,” replied Caterina. “ I have known 
Hope Ashley for a long time, and for a short time I 
have known Joyce Selby. And I am well aware 
of the fact that they are both geniuses in the art of 
decoration.” 

The listening Muriel almost ground her teeth ; hut 
she pushed her head a little more forward, careless 
now, whether she was seen or not. The Comtesse 
began to talk, and to talk of her , of all people. 

“ Thou didst thyself exhibit very great taste on 
the day when Joyce was made our Queen,” said 
Caterina, turning to her companion as she spoke. 
“We would have asked thee to help in the selection 
of the fairies and in the arranging of their dress, 


FOILED. 


317 


but under the circumstances, we thought it best not.” 

“ And why ‘ best not ? 9 ” said F rangoise, her eyes 
flashing an angry fire. 

“ Ah, well,” replied Caterina, “ I have my rea- 
sons. La Societe de J oie has its reasons. Think not 
about it again, Frangoise; thou hast been a great 
help to us in our hour of need.” 

These words soothed Frangoise to a certain degree. 
After a minute, however, she made a remark which 
raised such a turmoil of anger in the breast of Mu- 
riel St. John that she very nearly sprang from her 
hiding place and declared herself. 

“ I think,” said Frangoise, “ I think of that little 
cat, Muriel, and what she might have done.” 

“ Ah, do not tell me, please,” said Caterina. “ I 
would indeed, in very truth rather not know.” 

“ Thou art wonderful, Caterina,” exclaimed Fran- 
goise ; “ and I will not indeed speak on those matters 
which concern thee not. Be thankful that all was 
discovered in time; be assured of my friendship; be 
satisfied with my love. I am a happy girl, now, in 
the School; and the School has nothing whatsoever 
to fear from Frangoise Dupuis, or, truly, from any- 
one else.” 

“ Ah, vrai, truly,” muttered Muriel under her 
breath. “ How wisely does the young snake speak ; 
but I may be even with her yet.” 

The fury within the breast of Muriel was now so 
great that she was forgetful of all rules, even to the 
semblance of obedience. She would go her own way, 


318 


FOILED. 


do what she wished, happen what would. By and 
by Frangoise and Caterina disappeared into the 
shadowy darkness, and as they did so, Muriel as 
quickly made up her mind. She rushed into the 
great central salle , where, on these summer evenings, 
the post was laid ready to be put into the bag for 
Henri to convey to the post-office. If no girl belong- 
ing to the School was present, he, at least, knew where 
to find the letters. Muriel knew equally well. She 
caught up a vast pile of letters and, amongst others, 
saw one addressed to Madame Dupuis ; beyond doubt 
it was written in the scrawly, untidy writing of 
Franqoise Dupuis. In a flash Muriel rushed up to 
her room. Was it right? — was it wrong? She did 
not care. She tore the letter open and read the con- 
tents. They were, of course, in French, and were as 
easy to her as the alphabet. “ Chere belle mere,” 
the letter began, “ I have told unto thee the scan- 
dalous conduct of that snake in the grass, Muriel St. 
John. I have already acquainted thee, chere belle 
mere, with the manner in which she treated me on 
the day when the dress arrived — the dress, ah, so 
beautiful, which thou, ma belle mere, gavest to thy 
child. Since that moment my position in this vast 
School is completely altered. Les demoiselles of 
France and les demoiselles of England alike pity me, 
and alike take very good care to avoid Muriel. That 
which I thought I might do with Muriel’s aid, will 
not now be attempted ; but think not, ma belle mere, 
that Muriel will escape. We have what they call in 


FOILED. 


319 


England a ‘ rod in pickle * for that wicked demoiselle. 
Ah, but she will suffer ! She deserves it ; her beauty 
will not save her, nor will her rank, for what are 
these things, ma belle mere , compared to the straight 
and honourable path? Muriel has turned her best 
friends against her, and she will know it on the night 
of the fete. Couldst thou not come down, ma belle 
mere , thou and mon pere , and behold the triumph of 
thy little Erangoise? Couldst thou not at least try 
to come — ah, but it is worth while! Thou wilt re- 
joice to see what I am thought of, and how little — 
how very little the nobility of mere rank is consid- 
ered in this School. There is the nobility of the 
spirit which Joyce Selby and Hope Ashley, my best 
beloved, think all in all.” 

Muriel read these words with a choking heart, 
with a sensation which she could scarcely account 
for. Then, quick as lightning, she thrust the letter 
into the deep pocket of her underskirt, and set off 
to fly through the darkness to the house of Citoyenne 
Pelven. On her way there she suddenly encountered 
Henri. 

“ Henri,” she said, “ you need not trouble to take 
the letters to-night to the ‘ little mother/ for behold ! 
I am taking them. I have them here — yes, here.” 

“ Then I will walk with you, mademoiselle,” re- 
plied Henri, speaking in his most polite voice. 

Muriel made no reply, and Henri pursued his fa- 
vourite song of houp-la, which rang out merrily on 
the evening breeze. As they approached the little 


320 


FOILED. 


house in the little street, Muriel suddenly drew up. 
“ I do not want your company,” she said. “ What I 
have to say to Madame is for her ears alone.” 

“Ah oui, mademoiselle , certainement , mademoi- 
selle” answered Henri in that meek little voice which 
he could assume at will ; “ I will wait outside until 
you have had your talk wth Citoyenne Pelven — with 
the good little mother — and then I will accompany 
you to the post-office ; for it does not do for a demoi- 
selle to walk the streets of Tourelle alone in the 
dark.” 

“ As you please, Henri,” replied Muriel. As she 
spoke, a sudden fit of sneezing overcame her. She 
thrust her hand into her pocket to extract a hand- 
kerchief and, without noticing it herself, pulled out 
also the letter which had been written by Frangoise 
to la belle mere. It flashed white in the darkness; 
but before Muriels eyes could light on it, Henri’s 
broad little foot covered it. He said in his meekest 
tones : 

“ I will wait your pleasure, chere demoiselle” ; 
and Muriel entered the establishment of Citoyenne 
Pelven. This worthy woman received the young 
girl with a distinct frown between her black brows, 
while her equally black eyes flashed in a very omi- 
nous manner. 

“ And what dost thou want with me, mademoi- 
selle?” she asked. 

“ I would ask,” said Muriel, “ why our little 
scheme, nest-ce pas , our little plot, has to all appear- 


FOILED. 


321 


ance come to grief? You were one with me and 
with those who belonged to me, Citoyenne. But now 
you are changed.” 

“ And others are also changed,” said the Citoyenne. 
“ Come, Mile. Muriel St. John, I want not thy pres- 
ence here. There are certain unholy things which I 
permit not in my presence. I ask no questions, 
mademoiselle, I require on thy part no stories to be 
told; only I would ask thee, mademoiselle, to quit 
my humble abode. For the things of light have 
nought to do with the things of darkness.” 

“ What do you mean by the things of light ? ” 
asked Muriel, her voice almost choking her. 

“ I mean this,” said Citoyenne. “ Thou didst de- 
vise an evil plot, mademoiselle, and thou didst take 
me in and — and others, who belong to the School. 
But in a good moment, thanks to le bon Dieu , thy 
thoughts were laid bare, thy wicked feeling exposed 
to view. And now thou wilt go, mademoiselle. Ah, 
vite, vite, wilt thou depart? See, I will put thee 
out. Thou art la cobra — thou, in thy very own per- 
son; and I have no dealings with snch. Vite, vite, 
mademoiselle , depart or I put thee out, and I am 
stronger than thou.” 

In truth there was no doubt on that point, and the 
next moment Muriel, furious and frightened, found 
herself outside the door. She had not gained any 
point, she had not won any victory. But while she 
was talking, or trying to talk to the Citoyenne, Henri 
was busily reading from end to end the letter which 


322 


FOILED. 


Francoise Dupuis had written to her stepmother. It 
reposed now snugly in his pocket. His spirits were 
very high. 

“ You did not talk a long time with the little 
mother, mademoiselle,” he enquired. 

“ Ho, and I wish to go home,” said Muriel. “ The 
person you call i the little mother ’ is a fiend, no 
less. She does not know how to speak to a lady.” 

“ Shall we convey our letters to the post-office ? ” 
asked Henri. And again he gave vent to an irre- 
pressible houp-la! 

“ Ho, I don’t want to go,” replied Muriel. 

“ But see, mademoiselle, see, I cannot permit you 
to walk these streets alone, these dark dangerous 
streets where the poor and the starving and the half- 
naked and the sick abound. You must come with 
me, Mademoiselle Muriel St. J ohn. See ; it will not 
take a moment.” And Muriel, notwithstanding her 
passions, her unspeakable rage, found herself obliged 
to follow Henri as far as the general post-office. He 
conducted her then to the gates of La Chapelle, and 
immediately afterwards flew back as fast as his quick 
feet could carry him to the house of the little mother. 

“ Ah, my little son,” said Citoyenne, “ why did 
that mamzelle come to-night? Why did I miss thine 
eyes, black as jet, and thy merry laugh and thy 
cheerful ways? Was it indeed thou, Henri, who 
made that young scorpion assail me in my private 
dwelling ? ” 

“ Ho, no, far from that, little mother,” replied 


FOILED. 


323 


Henri. u But behold I have done a good turn. Thou 
didst not keep her long, little mother ! ” 

“ Keep her ? I could not abide the sight of her 
wicked face.” 

“ Ah, but consider, little mother. It was well that 
she came, and that I — I met her. I was going to 
La Chapelle for the post, comprenez-vous? when I 
encountered mademoiselle on the high, white road; 
and mademoiselle, she said, ‘ I will not require you 
to come with me to-night, Henri ; I have myself se- 
cured the letters, and I want to speak to Citoyenne 
Pelven.’ I said that I would accompany her, and 
she made no answer, only she walked tres vite , tres 
vite. As we got outside thy maison, little mother, 
the light from the moon was hidden, and behold ! it 
was dark. And mademoiselle, the good God made 
mademoiselle to sneeze, and she put her hand into 
her pocket to draw out her mouchoir ; and because 
of the darkness she did not see what came also with 
the mouchoir. It was a letter, little mother, and it 
flashed white just for half a quarter of a second. 
But my foot was on it — my small square foot, that 
thou dost laugh at me for possessing, little mother — 
almost before it reached the ground. When she went 
to thee, and thou didst not keep her long — ah, non, 
non — I placed myself under the light of a street 
lamp and I read the contents of the letter. Here, 
Citoyenne, here, little mother cherie, we have plenty 
— ah, plenty in these words to convict the English 
maiden. Bead for thyself, Citoyenne, for she opened 


324 


FOILED. 


the letter and its contents are no longer unknown' 
and she dares not interfere. Read and consider what 
is best to he done. She has fallen into our trap, la 
'petite mademoiselle; we do right to read the letter. 
See, little mother, vite, vite, Ah, but my heart is as 
light as a feather! The thing is as plain now as 
any trap set for any bird. She meant to ruin an- 
other, but that other will ruin her.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE GREAT FETE 

It had come at last — the day of the great, the 
very great fete ; and the weather rose nobly to the 
occasion. The sun shone, the birds sang, the cher- 
ries were ripe on the trees. Behold, it was but to 
stand under them, and they dropped into your mouth 
* — delicious as no English cherries ever are; soft, 
melting, crimson. Ah, but they were good to eat, 
and as the day was a universal holiday, many and 
various were the young lips stained with cherry 
juice, and many and varied were the tones of keen 
young laughter, for happiness reigned supreme in 
the great School. Were not the girls going to have 
the time of their life ? — so they expressed it. Were 
they not going on that very evening to do honour to 
that most gracious lady, Madame la Comtesse ? Was 
not the marquee already placed in the most suitable 
part of the grounds ? Were not the six tents further 
erected at a good distance from each other, but all 
with a distinct purpose in view ? And was not J oyce 
almost beside herself with delight ? And was not 
Hope happy of the happy — following and helping 
her friend ? 


325 


326 


THE GREAT FETE 


The tent especially set apart for Madame La Com- 
tesse de Tres was lined within with rich, soft, crim- 
son silk. Had it not its chair — soft, luxurious — its 
little table; its ventilators, which were kept regu- 
larly swaying backwards and forwards in the sum- 
mer breeze ? The girls who had special charge of 
this tent were Joyce Selby and Hope Ashley. The 
other tents were attended to by different hostesses; 
and the girls of the School, just because they were 
girls of the School of La Chapelle, were to attend to 
the refreshments. It would be warm enough at 
seven in the evening on this, the longest day of the 
year; and Madame would be conducted to her tent, 
to her throne, by those twelve maidens who formed 
the choir of La Societe de Joie. It was only those 
special demoiselles who were absolutely in the heart 
of the secret, who knew that these girls had long 
been trained for this special and admirable work; 
but never, never before did they sing as they meant 
to sing to-day, when Joyce and Hope and Frangoise 
and Juliette de Tournay had all helped them. 

Meanwhile a girl was seen flitting backwards and 
forwards like a restless, most restless being, in the 
very midst of all the preparations. This girl was 
Muriel St. John, and she was as unhappy as any 
girl could be, because she could not find the letter 
that she had stowed away for absolute safety in the 
deep pocket of her inner skirt. She had not thought 
of it again until the following morning, and then, 
behold ! it was gone. She dared not question the 


THE GREAT FETE 


327 


maids about it; she dared not make enquiries, un- 
less, indeed, Henri knew something. She hated and 
feared and detested Henri now, but he might know 
something. Muriel felt in an agony of terror. If 
that letter had been dropped, if it had been discov- 
ered, all was indeed up with her. Much as she 
loathed Henri, she felt that she must confide in him. 
She put off doing so until the morning of the fete. 
She endured her misery as best she could, during 
the intervening days. But on the morning of the 
fete she felt certain she could hold herself in no 
longer. 

Henri was Henri. Henri had met her and ac- 
companied her to the door of the house of la Citoy- 
enne; Henri for his own sake would not tell that 
she was going there. He might possibly know some- 
thing about the letter. It was hateful to have to 
ask him, but she felt that she must. 

How, the page-boy was particularly busy on this 
glorious summer’s day. He did not know, as he 
himself expressed it, whether he was on his head or 
his heels. He only knew that he was required to be 
here, there and everywhere. He was to help les 
demoiselles with their various arrangements. He was 
to catch the bright smile which hovered round Hope’s 
sweet mouth. He was to rejoice in the goodwill 
with which Joyce Selby addressed him. Ah, yes, 
ah, yes, Henri was a very important person. In the 
midst of his busiest moment he rushed full up against 
Muriel. 


328 


THE GREAT FETE 


“ I must speak to you for one moment,” she said. 
“ I have lost a letter ; have you found one ? ” 

“ A letter for yourself, mademoiselle ? ” 

“ No — yes — yes — no, a letter, that is sufficient.” 
“ I am afraid I cannot tell you anything about it, 
mademoiselle. Ah, oui. Mademoiselle Hope, I am 
coming, coming.” 

He dashed up, holding a tray full of glasses, which 
he was most careful not to spill. 

Muriel St. John felt a strange, unaccountable sink- 
ing at her heart. She could not exactly tell what 
brought it there, and yet she knew well, ah, very 
well, its cause. Beyond doubt Henri did know some- 
thing about the letter. He had told no lie, it is true, 
but neither had he spoken the truth. He had, in his 
clever way, avoided the subject; passed it, so to 
speak, by; let it alone as though it did not exist. 
What was Muriel to him ? What was her lost letter 
to him? Was he not un enfant du peuple? Was 
she not, the said Muriel, a grand lady — proud, very 
proud of England? What did Henri care about 
England and its grandeur and its falsehood. Ah, 
oui , certainement, it was false, this England, about 
which so much had been written, so much spoken. 
The people of England could tell lies ; mais certaine- 
ment they could ; but he, the little French boy, would 
circumvent them yet. He chuckled to himself, then 
hurried to obey the call of Hope Ashley. He was 
wanted, he was important, he was expected to be 
here, there and everywhere. Suddenly, however, it 


THE GREAT FETE 


329 ' 


flashed through his active little brain that, although 
Frangoise, a native of his own beloved country, could 
stoop to the great untruth, the untruth so palpable, 
so real; yet Hope Ashley — Hope Ashley with the- 
smile which was to the little page-hoy as the smile 
of God Himself — would never, never stoop to tell a 
lie; nor would her beloved friend, Joyce Selby — she, 
that noble mademoiselle who was so very rich and 
who was giving the fete. Henri felt his head reel 
with a passionate desire to help these two demoiselles, 
and to cause Frangoise, even though she did belong 
to his country, to suffer the full fruits of her un- 
doing — Frangoise and Muriel — demoiselles from 
England and France. 

A great change had come over Henri during the 
last few days. He himself at one time had thought 
Frangoise Dupuis, and other girls belonging to the 
School, charming, picturesque, even delightful in 
their wonderful daring — their determination to ex- 
pose what they chose to consider false; but all these 
things had passed away from the brain and the mind 
of Henri. Was it the sudden, sweet smile of Hope; 
was it the radiant look of happiness on Joyce’s lovely 
face; or was it because both Edmee Leroux and 
Jeanne Gerusez belonged to him, were of his people,, 
and could not, would not, do a mean and shabby 
thing? He was a little startled in the midst of those 
musings, which came very fast through his quick, 
little brain, by Hope’s gentle, high-bred voice. 


330 


THE GREAT FETE 


“ Henri, I’ve a word to say to you, mon gargon ” 
remarked Hope Ashley. 

“ Ah, oui, mademoiselle , certainement, mademoi- 
selle” answered the French boy. 

Hope suddenly and by a direct movement turned 
herself round so that she herself was under the 
shadow of a great tree, while Henri Sarci’s little 
face was lit up by the beams of the sun. Henri made 
a sort of impatient movement. He wanted to get 
out of the sunlight ; he wanted to get away from the 
fixed ga?e of that noble young English mademoiselle, 
whom in his heart of hearts he worshipped. 

“ No, Henri, stay where you are, mon gargon ” 
said Hope. “ I wish now to say a few words to 
you.” 

" Peut-etre you mean to-night,” remarked the 
French boy. 

“ No, no, I mean now,” answered Hope. “ To- 
night may possibly be too late.” 

Henri kicked his square little foot about on the 
gravel; then he put his large tray of glasses down 
on a sheltered part of the lawn and stood at atten- 
tion. 

“ I wish to say this,” continued Hope, “ and I 
know my good little Henri, you will do precisely 
what I wish, and what my dearest friend, Joyce 
Selby, also wishes. You have a plot in your head, 
little Henri, which it is your intention to bring to 
perfection this night, yes, this night.” 

“ Ah, and why not, mademoiselle ? ” said Henri. 


THE GREAT FETE 


331 


He raised Lis black eyes for a moment, encountered 
that winning, truthful smile, and then looked on the 
grass where his tray full of glittering glasses of all 
sorts and sizes, reposed. 

“ I heard ypu just now talking for a brief moment 
to one of my friends, Muriel St. John,” continued 
Hope. “ I think — in fact I am nearly sure — that 
you have a very, very strong reason for not liking 
my friend, Muriel ; and your intention is to take the 
part of the revenger . In the midst of our fete, of 
our gaiety, of our fun, you, Henri, will willfully 
spoil all ; you, with the help of my other dear friend, 
Citoyenne Pelven. Henri, I’ve suspected this for 
some days; but now I am sure, certain, positive. 
Accordingly, I wish now to make a request to you, 
Henri; and that request of mine you are to repeat 
with your own lips to that good, that excellent 
woman, Citoyenne Pelven. Neither Joyce nor I 
wish that any cloud should come over the proceed- 
ings of her fete. We wish all to go happily and 
well.” 

“ But, mademoiselle, you do not know. Vous ne 
comprenez pas ” 

“ Perhaps I do not know, perhaps I am wrong. 
But let that matter pass, Henri ; and to-night, from 
seven to twelve o’clock, be on the side of the good 
and the brave. Keep the ball rolling. Add to the 
fun, do not diminish from it. Your good aunt, 
Citoyenne Pelven, will be present also. Tell her 
most carefully what I say. She is, yes, she is of the 


332 


THE GEEAT FETE 


best of the earth. I ask no questions, Henri, but to- 
night I do not want any cloud to come between us 
and our happiness; for happiness is a great and a 
blessed thing, and it is more than cruel, it is worse 
than unkind, to take that happiness and fling it, yes, 
fling it in the faces of those who would otherwise be 
happy — yes, happy. Do you promise, Henri ? Will 
you do what I ask ? ” 

“ Ah, mademoiselle, who could refuse you ? It 
hurts me sore but I will promise. Only to-morrow, 
mademoiselle, to-morrow I may have my way.” 

“ To-morrow you may have your way if you still 
wish for it, Henri. And now please put those glasses 
carefully in their places in the marquee, and then 
go to visit Citoyenne Pelven and tell her what I 
have said to you. Tell her that at any cost there 
must be no disturbance to-night. Do you understand, 
little Henri ? ” 

“ Ah, oui, mademoiselle, ah, oui ” 

Henri stooped, picked up his heavy tray of glasses, 
and hoisted it deftly, without the slightest trouble, 
on one arm. With the disengaged arm he gently 
touched his left foot. 

“ Observe, mademoiselle,” he said, “ that my feet, 
although short, are broad. I will act as you do 
wish, Mademoiselle Hope Ashley” ; and then he 
disappeared into the tent. 

About ten minutes later, to the great amazement 
of the Citoyenne, “ little son ” was paying her a visit 


THE GREAT FETE 


333 


in the narrow and crooked rue where she kept her 
'patisserie. 

“ There is mischief, little mother/’ he said ; “ and 
we, you and I, must obey.” 

“ And what is that mischief, little son ? ” asked the 
Citoyenne. “ Is not this the glorious day of the 
great fete, and the chocolats rising as they never rose 
before, and the gateaux light as a feather, and the 
sirops — ah, mats oui, never did I taste sirops like 
those which will be brought in pails by my very own 
hands into the marquee to-night. What can be 
wrong, little son? — -for of a surety the sun in the 
Heavens shines brightly, and the good God is over 
everything. Ah oui, little son, over everything is the 
good God ! Hast thou found another snake in the 
grass — a scorpion peut-etre, a rattle-snake peut- 
etre ? ” 

“Non, non, none of these things,” replied Henri; 
“ all is well, and there are no fresh snakes in the 
grass. But alas, alas ! little mother. Although thou 
hast kept the letter, ah, so safely, and the plot is 
assuredly ours, and the mischief is done and cannot 
be undone, yet, behold ! little mother, consider ! 
Mademoiselle Hope, she says, she says — ‘ Henri, 
no. 9 She looks me full in the face and she says the 
one parole 6 no.’ She says that she has her suspi- 
cions ; and that nothing, nothing at all shall be done 
to-night to spoil the flavour, the full delicious flavour 
of thy gateaux, Citoyenne ; of thy sirops ; of thy tart- 
lets. That to-night the fete shall be a fete indeed; 


334 


THE GEEAT FETE 


and no dark words are to be spoken and no black 
and ugly deeds mentioned. To-morrow — ah, to-mor- 
row we may do our best, or our worst. She com- 
mands, and I — I have promised, and I must obey; 
and thou must promise, little mother, for am I not 
thy little son ? ” 

“ It is that blessed demoiselle, Hope Ashley, that 
thou dost speak about ? ” said Citoyenne Pelven, push- 
ing aside the black hair from her flushed face. “ Ah, 
well, well, perhaps she is right. She sees further 
into the mysteries of the holy religion than we do. 
We must obey her. For my part I am glad not to 
spoil the fete ; and to-morrow, little son, is not far 
off.” 

"Non, non, Citoyenne” cried the boy. “ Houp- 
la! Houp-la! And think, consider, little mother, 
that I am to wear a dress of pale-blue velvet, as the 
one and only boy on the premises ; and that thou wilt 
come with all the grandeur of thy purple gown with 
its ornaments of silver. For thou art to attend all 
night, watching and looking on, watching, helping, 
and looking on, by orders of Mademoiselle Joyce 
Selby. I shall be very busy all day, Citoyenne; but 
in the evening I will bring my pale-blue velvet suit 
for thee to arrange upon my person. And my little 
flat foot which did such service will be encased in 
blue shoes of the finest kid; and my little legs in 
stockings of the finest silk ; and all — all to match, so 
that, little mother, thou wilt be proud of thy little 
son. I shall be with thee not later than six, so be 


THE GREAT FETE 


335 


dressed thyself, little mother, to get me into my 
finery, which I will bring — I will bring with me. 
Ah, but cest vrai , it is houp-la, houp-la ! ” 

The boy disappeared out of the shop door. Citoy- 
enne Lafarge saw him as he passed, and longed to call 
to him to come to her; but before she could utter a 
word, he was gone like a flash. Why should Citoy- 
enne Pelven have all the luck? thought Citoyenne 
Lafarge. She grumbled, and a cross look came over 
her freckled face ; and her ugly eyes and scanty red 
hair and thin bony person made her the very reverse 
of inviting to those who looked at her, as she stood 
in the doorway of her dirty shop. Why, indeed, 
should Citoyenne Pelven, with the black eyes and the 
broad, stout figure, have all the luck, even to the 
friendship of that page-boy, Henri, whom she dis- 
tinctly heard her call her “ little son ” ? Madame 
Lafarge had many children of her own — all thin and 
red-haired and bony like herself ; and she found them 
a trouble, not a joy. But just then a piping voice 
asked for three sous’ worth of sirop, and another 
piping voice demanded three sous’ worth of eau 
sucree, and she had to turn back into the dirty shop, 
still muttering and discontented, and still envying 
Citoyenne Pelven. 

Meanwhile, Hope, having issued her mandate to 
Henri, went swiftly, but with a great deal of deter- 
mination in her walk, along the grounds. After a 
long time she came across the object of her search. 
This was no less a person than Muriel St. John, who 


336 


THE GEEAT FETE 


was leaning up against the plantation fence which 
divided the grounds of La Chapelle from the high 
road that led to the town of Tourelle. Muriel was 
driven at that moment to absolute despair. She 
knew to a certainty that Henri was aware of the 
fate of the letter — the terrible letter which she had 
stolen from the other letters ; which she had secured 
for herself, had boldly opened, and had read the full 
contents thereof. With that letter in her possession 
she might have been armed to save herself from the 
very worst of it ; but without it she was lost, ruined. 
With it she could persuade Frangoise — for the sake 
ef Frangoise herself — to hold her peace, to say noth- 
ing, to do nothing. But if the letter was lost, and 
if it was in the hands of her enemies — as she could 
not but consider Citoyenne Pelven and Henri — she 
was indeed and most absolutely in their power. They 
could prove beyond doubt that she had stolen a letter 
addressed to someone else, from the collection of let- 
ters waiting for the post. She had been disgraced 
already, but what was all former disgrace compared 
to this ? Her heart sank within her. She wondered 
if she could fly — fly from the School of La Chapelle ; 
get back to England. She could not do this without 
money, however, and she had not any money. She 
was at the present moment most strangely and ter- 
ribly disliked in the School; she dared not ask a 
girl or a mistress, she dared not ask a single person, 
to lend her a sufficient sum to take her, even travel- 
ling third class, back to her home. Besides, the mere 


THE GREAT FETE 


337 


fact of her demanding money on the day of the fete, 
would, in itself, rouse the very worst suspicions 
against her. No, she must stay and endure it; she 
must endure the worst, the very worst. It was just 
at that moment, while her thoughts were raging 
within her, and her head was aching as though she 
were suffering from a sunstroke, that a hand, gentle, 
firm, and withal very tender, was laid on her 
shoulder. She turned abruptly and met the clear, 
calm, affectionate gaze of those greeny-brown eyes 
which were Hope Ashley’s special prerogative; which 
no other girl in the school possessed ; which belonged 
to Hope and to Hope alone ; and which made Hope, 
in consequence, someone at once to fear and to love. 
Ah, ah! there had been a time when she and Hope 
Ashley had been friends, very close friends. Then 
there had come a time when she, Muriel St. John, 
had deliberately and without thought of the cruel 
mischief she was effecting, taken from Hope her own 
friendship, the friendship of la Comtesse Caterina, 
and of one or two other girls who belonged to the 
School. These girls were all members of la Societe 
de Joie. Because Hope did not think it right to 
join, and therefore would not join, she had lost her 
friends. Not that, after all, she greatly minded this 
loss, but beyond doubt such was the reason. 

Muriel discovered at the present moment, as she 
looked fully into those earnest, truthful eyes, what 
a huge mistake she had made in giving up one like 
Hope Ashley. There was something in Hope’s pres- 


338 


THE GREAT FETE 


ent expression which smote her to the very heart, 
which made her tremble from head to foot, which 
caused a wild daring idea to rush through her brain. 

“ Ah, Hope, ah, Hope ! ” she exclaimed, “ have 
you found me and can you — will you help me ? It 
will cost exactly two pounds for me to get home — 
home to my beautiful home in Cornwall. Will you 
lend me the money, Hope, for the sake of the friend- 
ship which we used to have with each other ; for the 
sake of the old times, the good old times ? Oh, Hope, 
oh, Hope, I am so miserable.” 

“ I know it, Muriel,” replied Hope, in her gentle, 
very tender voice, “ and I am most bitterly sorry for 
you.” 

“ You sorry for me ? You — You? ” 

“ Yes, I am bitterly sorry for you,” remarked 
Hope. 

“ Then you will let me have the money? You 
will ; you must ! ” 

“ If Madame la Comtesse de Tres gives me per- 
mission, I will lend it to you tomorrow, Muriel,” 
said Hope in her gentle, clear voice — that voice which 
was sweeter than a singing-bird’s. 

Muriel stamped her foot impatiently. “ And what 
good will that do ? ” she said. “ I want it to-night, 
yes, to-night; before the fete. It is the fete that I 
dread; it is the exposure that I shrink from — the 
certain, the certain exposure.” 

“ You cannot have any money from me to-day,” 
answered Hope. “ Ho, not a halfpenny. You have 


THE GREAT PETE 


339 


sown the wind and you are reaping the whirlwind. 
Poor Muriel ! Poor, dear Muriel ! ” 

“ Oh, how can you talk to me like that ? ” cried 
Muriel, when you are deliberately giving me over 
to despair.” 

“ I am not giving you over to despair,” said Hope. 

And now please listen, Muriel. I searched for 
you until I found you. I found you here, and I 
had — ah, well, never mind ; I will not talk about my 
suspicions. You are, I can see, very much afraid of 
the fete which will take place to-night. You dread 
the appearance of certain people at the fete who may 
possibly — I say possibly — effect your ruin in the 
School. How I wish to tell you something, Muriel. 
I shall, at midnight, get the permission of Madame 
la Comtesse de Tres to have a little talk with you 
all alone, quite by ourselves, in the honeysuckle ar- 
bour which belongs to the rose garden. And I have 
taken steps to secure you against all uneasiness, 
against every possible sort of misery between now 
and the hour named. Meet me in the honeysuckle 
bower at twelve o’clock to-night, and until that time 
rest easy, for nothing can happen to you, nothing 
will happen to you. I — I have taken steps. Joyce 
has taken steps. Try to be your old self, Muriel St. 
John. Help others ; be bright, be gay, and wait for 
me, whatever happens, in the honeysuckle bower, on 
the stroke of midnight this very night.” 

“ But — but — ” said Muriel, trembling violently, 
“ is this indeed true ? ” 


340 


THE GREAT FETE 


“ It is absolutely true.” 

“ But are you coming with others — with others 
whom I dread ? ” 

“ Fm coming alone, Muriel. How cheer up. 
Nothing, nothing in the world must spoil the fete of 
Joyce Selby.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A TUNE OF JOY. 

Everything was in perfect readiness. The hos- 
tesses were wearing their white dresses. Different 
tents were each occupied by a hostess, with the single 
exception of the larger tent, which was in possession 
of two hostesses, Hope Ashley and Joyce Selby. The 
hostesses were wearing their badges. The secret of 
the badge was out at last. It was simply a little 
word which spelt J oyce. It was made in the form 
of a crescent and hung suspended from a narrow 
gold chain, which was clasped round the neck of each 
hostess. The word “ Joyce ” shone out distinctly in 
its mingling of real turquoise and real diamonds. 
It was a very beautiful gift, and gave the final touch 
of light to each young figure. It rested on the bosoms 
of the dresses, sometimes the wonderful blue of the 
turquoise perdominating, sometimes the flashing 
light on the diamonds being most vividly seen. Joyce 
had spared neither expense nor thought over her gift 
to each young hostess. There was to be nothing 
shabby in connection with the fete ; and as she moved 
about, now here, now there, glancing into the great 
marquee, which was simply laden with refreshments, 
and which was attended to by Muriel St. John — 
341 


342 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


yes, marvellous to relate, Muriel St. John herself, 
Citoyenne Pelven, Henri Sarci, and a number of 
girls of the School — she felt certain that all was 
going well. 

In the very far distance she also heard, just then, 
the sound of music- — music, very soft, very telling, 
very inspiriting. 

Joyce immediately flew in the direction of her 
own special tent, where Hope Ashley awaited her. 

“ All is well, all is of the very best,” she whis- 
pered. “ How have you managed this wonderful 
matter, Hope? — for manage it of course you did, 
no one else could. Muriel St. John is in the Mar- 
quee, and enjoying herself with the best.” 

Hope gave one of her sudden, flashing smiles, 
caught Joyce’s hand, hut said nothing. 

The music — that music caused by the sweetest, 
most harmonious singing — came nearer; then a tall, 
very stately lady, in rich grey satin of a pearly grey 
embroidered all over with seed pearls, appeared in 
view. She walked very slowly, with a dignity all 
her own. She was the great Comtesse de Tres. 

Surrounding her to right, to left, before, behind, 
came as slowly the soft-voiced singers. 

These were the words that floated out on the pleas- 
ant evening air: 

Come shine, come rain, 

Come joy, come pain — 

To us comes pleasure 
In fullest measure. 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


343 


Why should we meet pain on this summer’s night, 

This night of June, with joy at its height? 

Are not the roses in their fullest flowers? 

Do not the honeysuckles scent our bowers? 

Chere Madame, behold ! we greet ! 

We press close, we fall at your feet. 

We are yours to the end of our story; 

We are yours to surround you with glory.” 

The sweet voices so distant at first — almost like an 
echo — came closer and nearer. In the midst of the 
summer evening the young people themselves would 
not make an unfit representation of white-robed 
angels. The Comtesse at their head — the Comtesse 
in their midst felt a strange lump rise in her throat. 
She had not lived in vain — these cheres demoiselles, 
these beloved children of her heart! The Comtesse 
*de Tres had all the passionate nature of the true 
Frenchwoman, and at the present moment she could 
have clasped these young creatures to her breast, as- 
suring them of her deep and undying love. The 
music in itself was beautiful; the words, simple of 
the simple, exactly suited the exquisite tune. It came 
nearer and yet nearer — that sound of perfect melody. 
But the young choir were well trained, and as they 
approached the entrance of the tent, they, as it were, 
instinctively lowered their voices, making them 
sound at once small and faint, like the song of the 
nightingale — that bird of night — and the clear echo 
of the lark — that bird of the morning. Every girl 
in the School stood transfixed — to listen, to admire, 
to adore. The girls themselves were as nothing to 


344 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


these other girls; it was Madame la Comtesse who 
was at that moment all in all. Presently she reached 
the tent where Joyce and Hope waited to receive her. 
They wore their white Watteau, dresses; they wore 
their beautiful crescents of diamonds and turquoises. 
The face of Joyce was very slightly flushed; Hope, 
on the contrary, looked paler than her wont ; but she 
was filled with a great sense of rejoicing. The sing- 
ing ceased. It was meant to cease as the great guest 
of the evening entered her really beautiful tent. The 
young choir mingled with the rest of the girls, took 
their part with the others, laughed with glee, were 
full of mirth to their finger-tips. But just at that 
very moment when their part, important as it was, 
had come to an end, Joyce stepped forward. She 
conducted the Queen of the occasion, the great Com- 
tesse de Tres, to her comfortable, indeed luxurious 
seat; and then kneeling before her, presented her 
with a beautifully-made morocco case. 

“ This is from your children, chere Madame ” she 
exclaimed. “ The children whom you have taught to 
love you — the children who do love you. You will 
accept our little gift just because I think — I think — - y 
her voice faltered, she glanced at Hope. 

“ Because it means the essence of love itself,” in- 
terposed Hope. 

“ Yes,” continued Joyce, “ it is the very essence 
of love — love that cannot die, love that must accom- 
pany you, chere Madame, all through your life; the 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


345 


love of your children for their principal, for their 
teacher, for their head.” 

Madame la Comtesse, who had been trembling not 
a little as she approached the beautifully arranged 
tent ; trembling not a little because of the words sung 
by the young choir, and because of the sentiment in 
those words; now felt herself trembling far more 
than ever. 

“ Open the case, J oyce, my child,” she said. “ I 
am — yes, I am — overcome.” Tears filled her eyes, 
a choking sensation rose in her throat. She longed, 
beyond anything in all the world, to clasp those two 
beautiful girls to her heart. She knew, although 
she never breathed a word, that the expense of the 
entertainment was Joyce’s; but that most of the 
thoughts were Hope’s — Hope and J oyce, two English 
maids. Ah, had she not indeed won a victory! — 
when girls from che cold land of England could woo 
her so gently, so sweetly, so absolutely, as did these 
two. 

Joyce spoke in a rather quick, somewhat husky 
voice. * 

“ This is the gift of the entire School,” she said. 
“ There are at the present moment ninety-two pupils 
in your school, chere Madame ; and all — yes all, both 
English and French, have given something.” 

“ English, French, Italian and German,” inter- 
rupted Hope again. 

u Ah, yes,” said Madame, u I must on no account 
forget my Italian darlings, Imelda and Gemma. Of 


346 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


all the sweet girls in this School, there are none 
sweeter than they.” 

“ Thou art right, chere Madame ” said Hope 
again ; “ and they have done their part right nobly. 
See, behold ! the thing is good. Open it, Joyce, and 
do not keep our beloved Madame any longer in sus- 
pense.” 

Instantly Joyce pressed a spring. The little dark- 
blue morocco case flew open at her touch ; and within 
lay a tiara — beautiful beyond words, and composed 
almost entirely of diamonds of the very first water. 
At each end, however, was a very large turquoise 
of a brilliant and dazzling turquoise blue. This tur- 
quoise was set round with pearls, minute seed pearls, 
which would exactly suit the dove-coloured dress 
which Madame was wearing for the occasion. 

“ May I myself have the great honour of placing 
it on your head, Madame la Comtesse ? ” exclaimed 
Joyce. 

“ Thou mayest, my beloved child. Ah, but it is 
beautiful! It is dazzling! Ah, my new child, 
Joyce, thou hast paid too heavily for this lovely 
bauble.” 

“ Ho, no, thou dost mistake, chere Madame ” ex- 
claimed Joyce. “We have all paid our share, have 
we not, Hope ? ” 

“Yes, all; yes, all,” exclaimed Hope. 

The tiara was immediately placed on the dark head 
of Madame la Comtesse. The diamonds glittered 
and shone, the pearls softened the almost dazzling 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


347 


effect. The turquoises looked tenderly, gracefully 
blue at each end of the beautiful tiara. 

“ The gift is too great,” said Madame. 

u Brrt thou wilt accept it, Madame, chere Ma- 
dame ? said <X oyce in a voice which was suddenly 
filled with a sort of agony of fear. 

u I have said so,” replied Madame ; and she took 
J oyce’s sweet little hand in hers. “ I accept this 
wonderful and precious gift from my children. Hope 
is right when she calls it the essence of love. In that 
spirit, I accept what is far too valuable to he taken 
by me in any other spirit. But now, my children, 
my beloved ones, before I go out to show myself to 
the rest of the School, and to proffer my thanks to 
the rest of the School, I would ask one gift from 
thee, my Joyce, and from thee, my Hope.” 

“ Anything in our power,” said both at once. 

“It is,” said Madame, speaking gently and firmly, 
“ that you both kiss me, and allow me to kiss you in 
return.” 

Was there ever surely a moment like the present? 
The girls’ trembling kisses were met by tears, large 
as crystals, which fell from the eyes of Madame la 
Comtesse. She folded her arms round each young 
figure; she pressed each girl for a moment to her 
breast. Then she said: 

“ God keep thee, God love thee,” and sank back 
in her chair, as though she were altogether overcome 
by her emotion. 

Hope whispered something to Joyce, and Joyce 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


348 

vanished immediately from the tent. When they 
were quite alone, Madame spoke. 

“ Hope,” she said, just touching the tiara, “ has 
Joyce ruined herself over this ? ” 

“ Chere Madame , non , certainement non,” replied 
Hope. “ Fret not thy dear heart, beloved Madame. 
Joyce would not do anything mean like that. Con- 
sider, Madame, thy vast School — ninety-two girls. 
If the poorest give a little, if the richest give a good 
deal, the tiara can be purchased without anyone in 
particular being mentioned, being thought of, being 
in any single way inconvenienced. Ah, will you not 
believe me, chere Madame ? And the pleasure! 
Think of the pleasure! This is Joyce’s fete. Do 
not let a cloud come over it. Let it be brilliant all 
the time. Show how you do return our love, chere 
Madame; show to all the girls of La Chapelle how 
you do value our love, our worship, our little gift.” 

“ Thanks to thee, Hope ; thou hast eased my 
heart,” said Madame. 

Just at that moment Joyce herself appeared, bear- 
ing a small tray of refreshments. There was a tiny 
bottle of the very best champagne, which held a sin- 
gle glass, no more and no less. Joyce had sent for 
it to Paris, and it fizzed and foamed now as the 
Mistress, overcome by all this courtesy and love and 
-adoration, raised it to her lips. 

“ There is sirop for the rest of us,” said Hope ; 
•“ but this is for thee, Madame, beloved.” 

Madame la Comtesse de Tres sipped the sparkling 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


349 


wine, ate a few mouthfuls of the refreshments, and 
then her courage having altogether returned to her, 
said she would rest for a short time alone in the tent 
until the girls had all partaken of their refreshments, 
when she would meet them on the front lawn, with 
the intention of saying a few words to them. 

Hope immediately took Joyce’s hand, bore away 
the tray of refreshments, and entered the marquee 
which was now full of girls — all eating, chattering, 
laughing, enjoying their sir op, the like of which they 
surely never tasted before; and, in short, having a, 
very good time. The appearance of Hope and Joyce 
in their midst caused the laughter to stop for a lit- 
tle; and some eyes full of curiosity, some again full 
of intense delight, one pair, alas ! filled with a name- 
less fear — all looked at the two girls as they entered, 
arm in arm. 

Before, however, one word could be spoken, Citoy- 
enne Pelven came to the fore. 

“ I will take the command on this occasion,” 
she remarked. “ I am a woman of the people, 
nest ce pas? Nevertheless I take the command. 
For you, cheres demoiselles, must eat, must drink, 
before you utter a word. Restrain your impatience, 
mes enfants; the good God likes the patient spirit. 
Henri, little son, prepare the very best refreshments 
— those that I told thee to put aside for Mile. Joyce 
and Mile. Hope.” 

There was something, altogether, about the Citoy- 
enne in her purple dress with its silver ornaments, 


350 A TUNE OF JOY. 

which caused the girls to cease to regard her as in 
any way beneath them. They stood in groups and 
looked on, until at last, at a word from the Citoyenne, 
Edmee Leroux, Jeanne Gerusez, Juliette de Tournay, 
and one or two more, whispered a word in the good 
woman’s ear. 

" Oui, oui ” she replied, “ ah oui , certainement 
oui and then as though by magic the marquee, 
which was nearly stifling, became half empty, and 
the girls above named took their positions in front 
of their several tents. Here were to he seen the tent 
of the fortune-teller, the tent of the Punch and J udy, 
the tent of the pretty demoiselle who played the vio- 
lin, and other tents besides. Each tent was erected 
with an object, and the object of each tent was to add 
its happiness to the lovely fete. 

“ But the tents will not he declared open till half- 
past eight,” exclaimed Edmee Leroux. “ I shall 
then disappear, and lot in my stead there will be a 
fortune-teller. Ask me not how, ask me not why.” 

“ And in my tent there will be a game which is 
a profound secret until those who enter behold it,” 
said J eanne Gerusez. “ But no tents can be opened 
until half -past eight. For Madame la Comtesse has 
something to say to us all.” 

Ah, ah, how the sun did shine! How it shone to- 
wards its setting! What a softened glow there was 
over everything ; and strange, miraculous as it 
seemed, Muriel was out of nothing. She was even 
invited to join in a great secret, which she and Fran- 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


351 


goise were to conduct together in one of the tents. 
But it wanted a long time yet before half-past eight 
of the clock. 

Meanwhile J oyce and Hope drank sirop — so good, 
so delicious, so perfectly iced, so absolutely refresh- 
ing, that their thirst was assuaged; and although at 
the crucial moment they had felt very nearly break- 
ing down, their spirits now revived. They ate, they' 
drank, they were merry once again. 

“ You have tired yourselves out, petit es ” cried 
the good Citoyenne. “ Bring the pate de foie gras , 
little son; bring it quickly, ah, quickly. Seest thou 
not how thy young mistresses all but faint with their 
exertions.” 

But the said young mistresses were now very far 
from fainting. Henri looked perfectly elegant in 
his dress of pale-blue velvet, and over and over again 
he pointed with a significant glance to his short 
square foot. 

“ But trust me, Mile. Hope,” he exclaimed ; “ I 
am Henri, of the true heart. I keep my word — ah y 
verily, chere mademoiselle” 

Hope gave him one of her smiles. She then stood 
up, approached Citoyenne Pelven and kissed her on 
her brow. 

“ Thy little son might be a prince of the royal 
blood,” she exclaimed. “ Thou doest well to be 
proud of him; that thou doest, Citoyenne.” 

“ Ah, but — ah, but — art thou not of the very dear- 
est?” she cried. “ I could weep with joy on this 


352 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


happy night. Thou didst right, Mile. Hope — there 
ought to be no unkind thoughts nor unkind deeds on 
this night of happiness.” 

“ You see I was right,” said Hope. “ And now, 
please, Citoyenne, collect the School ; for I think our 
gracious Madame la Comtesse would like to see them 
all surrounding her on the front lawn.” 

Everything had been arranged with such absolute 
order beforehand that nothing was likely to go wrong 
now; and when Hope and Joyce entered the large 
tent reserved for the reception of Madame, they 
found that gracious and beautiful woman quite her- 
self again, and waiting to receive them. The night 
was beginning to fall at last, only the twilight, it is 
true, still lingered. But that very twilight brought 
out the stateliness of her noble figure, and caused 
the diamonds to flash round her brow. It was also, 
strange to say, sufficiently light for the great tur- 
quoises, so enormous in size, to show distinctly 
against her black hair. As Madame la Comtesse de 
Tres stepped out on the front lawn, the girls of the 
School were seen hurrying to meet her. They came 
from right, from left; they came from all quarters. 
But there was no confusion of any sort in the man- 
ner of their arrival; and Madame la Comtesse felt 
no shock of surprise, when, out of her ninety-two 
pupils, twelve young maidens in perfect white sin- 
gled themselves out to surround her; singled them- 
selves out also to sing the final refrain of their little 
song of welcome. 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


353 


Chere Madame, behold ! we greet ! 

We press close; we fall at your feet. 

We are yours to the end of our story; 

We are yours to surround you with glory. 


“We are yours, we are yours,” echoed from far away. 

Then the white-robed maidens took up the re- 
frain : 

We are yours to the end of our story; 

We are yours to surround you with glory. 

Immediately after the singing of the last words, 
there came a profound stillness — the sort of still- 
ness which might he felt. 

Madame la Comtesse de Tres slowly, and with 
the utmost dignity, raised her right hand and 
touched the lovely diadem that shone on her raven- 
black hair. 

“ I have to thank you, my children ; I do with my 
whole heart — from the bottom of my heart. I thank 
you, my children; I love you. Words cannot express 
more than perfect love, and that is mine for you, 
mes petites enfants. And now — ” her voice changed 
— “ this is the hour of pleasure. Let us be happy 
while we may; enjoy yourselves, my children; 
Heaven bless you, my children.” 

It was at that instant that the five little tents were 
declared to be open. The girls flew away to have 
their fortunes told, to witness the undying Punch 
and Judy show (which wanders through Europe). 
Secrets, nothing in themselves, were revealed in other 


354 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


tents. Joy and laughter were most truly the order 
of the hour. But — but the sun had set; the last 
gleam of the gloaming had passed. The sky was 
dotted with innumerable stars, the moon came slowly 
up amongst the trees ; and at a word from the Citoy- 
enne, who was invaluable on this occasion, the fairies 
appeared and began their mystic and wonderful 
dance. Never, never before had they danced as they 
did now. Excitement filled their veins, joy stimu- 
lated their hearts. The tiny electric lamps on each 
little head showed their approach, also showed their 
disappearance. In a certain grove a fairy might be 
seen — might be seen for a flash, only to vanish. In 
a certain arbour a fairy peeped out; in another ar- 
bour three or four fairies met and touched hands. 
Then the dance, indescribable and graceful, came 
into full swing. It was stately with the stateliness 
of the old minuet; it was brisk with the briskness 
of the present day waltz ; hands touched hands, arms 
twined round other arms. The little figures were 
seen here, there, everywhere. Madame looked on 
with delight. She was altogether taken by surprise 
— surprise impossible to describe; surprise which 
could not find proper vent in speech. 

“ But — but this is wonderful,” she said at last to 
Joyce. “ This is overpowering. Who has taught 
them this strange and marvellous thing? I thought 
I knew my children ; but I did not know my fairies I 
This fete is altogether too ravishing, cherie — it melts 
the very heart. But hearken, cheries, beloved. Why 


A TUNE OF JOY. 


355 


should only the fairies dance ? Why should not we 
jes, all ; old and young — dance ? — on the night 
of the fete of Joyce Selby. Citoyenne Pelven, I se- 
lect thee as my partner. X feel young again, I am 
no longer old. My children have made me young; 
my fairies have given to me perpetual youth. Come, 
Citoyenne, dance with me if thou wilt.” 

That was indeed a sight to behold. The pretty, 
white-robed choir sang all the music of the dance. 
They sang without pause, without hindrance, and it 
may truly be said that there was not a girl present 
who did not, to her very heart’s core, enjoy this 
final event in the great fete of Joyce Selby. What 
was to happen next ? There was only one girl miser- 
able; and it seemed to her, as she danced with the 
others — for no one treated her coldly on this night 
of nights — that all that had happened lately must 
have been as a dream. Joyce delighted the heart of 
Henri by selecting him as her partner. The dances 
continued until twelve solemn strokes sounded from 
the stable clock. The fete was at an end. 

Muriel hurried to the honeysuckle bower. The 
rest of the girls helped Citoyenne to collect her crock- 
ery, to put away her unused provisions. Madame, 
weary in spite of herself, but with a heart full of 
happiness, went into the house. Hope went slowly, 
very slowly in the direction of the bower. She had 
permission to stay there until the stable clock struck 
the half-hour. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE LAST THE BEST. 

While the fun and the gaiety and the laughter, 
while the dancing and the light girlish screams of 
mirth could be heard issuing from the pleasure 
grounds of the School of La Chapelle, while la Com- 
tesse danced with Citoyenne Pelven, while Joyce se- 
lected Henri as her little partner; crowds of the 
poor and hungry folks who belonged to the small and 
sadly-neglected town of Tourelle, had gathered on 
the dusty high road to see, as they expressed it, th& 
sport, the revelry, that went on amongst the wicked 
aristocrats. The people who looked on were very 
hungry; these people were, many of them, but half 
clothed; these people knew but too well the scorch- 
ing heat of summer, and the piercing cold of winter. 
They truly belonged to the people , and their hearts 
burnt within them. Amongst the many who looked 
on, who peeped as high as they could above the plan- 
tation and over the strong iron fence, might have 
been seen the angry red face of Citoyenne Lafarge. 
She was accompanied by her five children, and 
was angry of the angry : furious with some of 
that fury which had led to the French Revolu- 
356 


THE EAST THE BEST. 


357 


tion in the times of long ago. The torture, the 
rage of her heart, knew no bounds when she beheld — 
yes, beheld with her own eyes — Madame la Comtesse 
de Tres, the woman who was well known to be one 
of the proudest in France, dancing with her own con- 
frere, Citoyenne Pelven. Her anger grew still 
greater when she beheld a demoiselle of the School 
dancing with light and swift measure, and behold! 
oh, behold ! with no less a person than Henri Sarci, 
the little page-boy whom Citoyenne Pelven called 
her “ little son.” There was he in very truth — there 
was he in his pale-blue velvet suit; his blue silk 
stockings; his little, blue kid shoes; and he danced 
as well as the best — the angry Citoyenne could not 
hut acknowledge this. 

“ Ah ! ” she whispered under her breath ; “ ah, 
bah! ” she cried; and she pushed back her scanty 
red hair and looked at her thin and starving chil- 
dren, and felt very like cursing Citoyenne Pelven 
and u the little son.” 

u Art thou good for sport, mon enfant ? ” she asked 
her eldest child — a lank, long, ugly boy who kept 
close to his mother, and who sniffed now and then at 
the excellent smell of the tartlets, the gateaux , the 
chocolats of all sorts and descriptions. 

“ Art thou good to act the part of a man, mon en- 
fant ? ” continued Citoyenne Lafarge. 

“ Ah , mais oui, certainement , ma mere ” replied 
the boy, raising his eyes, half-starved, half-fright- 
ened, to her face. 


358 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


“ Then thou wilt do it,” said Madame Lafarge,. 
“ for thou art taller, although thou art thinner, than 
he. Behold him whom I mean — le petit Henri Sard 
— he whom Citoyenne Pelven calls her ‘ little son.’ 
See him clothed in velvet of blue the most exquisite ! 
See his legs encased in stockings of silk, and his- 
feet in blue kid shoes ! ” 

“ Ah, oui, ma mere , I behold Henri, the strongest 
gargon in the whole of Tourelle.” 

“ Ah, but thou wilt beat him, thou wilt try ? ” said 
Citoyenne. “ Watch, and I will watch with thee. 
Provoke him with angry words, sneer at him as he 
deserves to be sneered at, and conduct him — hark! 
listen — to the willow tree which hangs over the 
round pond. When thou dost get him there, kick 
him in — ah, kick him in. Cover that pale-blue suit 
with the ugly mud of the pond. Spoil his beauty 
forevermore. He has black eyes now; make them 
blacker with thy fists, mon gargon . Harken, mom 
gargon, dost thou understand ? dost thou obey ? ” 

How Roy Lafarge was just as timid a lad as 
Henri Sarci was the reverse. He nodded as though 
he would obey his mother ; but he had no intention of 
doing so, none whatsoever. He felt that rather than 
fight with Henri he would fly the length of France 
away from Henri. But he must let his sore and 
angry mother think at least that he would obey her. 
The people from Tourelle who had come out to see 
the fete, grumbled and muttered — muttered and 
grumbled amongst themselves; but there was no one 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


359 


with such a hard, such a bitterly hard heart, as that 
which was encased within the thin body of Ci- 
toyenne Lafarge. 

The scene on which their eyes looked was ravish- 
ing; and they themselves had no spite against Ci- 
toyenne Pelven, for she was good-natured and often 
helped them in their need. It was Citoyenne 
Lafarge who used the sour oil and the bad butter 
and the flour of the worst, to make the cakes and the 
tartlets for the little boys and girls who could not 
afford to invade Citoyenne Pelven’ s patisserie. 
These good people knew this fact well, and had no 
sympathy for the angry woman. Certainly Roy, the 
thin, red-haired boy, had no sympathy whatsoever 
with his own mother at that moment. 

All things come to an end, however; the sweet 
singing stopped, the stable clock struck its twelve 
solemn notes, and instantly there was comparative 
silence in the grounds. The various demoiselles re- 
tired to their rooms to talk over the delights of the 
fete. 

Muriel crept to the honeysuckle bower and sat 
there trembling, and Joyce suddenly appeared in the 
great marquee. She wished to say a word to Ci- 
toyenne Pelven. 

“ Citoyenne,” she said, “ you exceeded yourself 
to-night. You did of the best — the very best for my 
friends and for my great fete. But behold ; basket- 
fuls remain.” 

u Never mind that, Mademoiselle Joyce,” said Ci- 


360 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


toyenne, who, after her dance with Madame, felt 
lifted into the seventh heaven. “ Think not that I 
will charge thee, chere mademoiselle , with that which 
was not eaten at the feast. I will freshen these 
cakes and tartlets up anew, and behold! they will 
come out as nice as ever to-morrow, and those who 
want to buy, can buy. Behold, mademoiselle, I will 
give them at a reduction, at a price lower than my 
usual price. Chere mademoiselle, the expense shall 
not fall upon thy young shoulders.’’ 

“ I want you to do something better than that,” 
said Joyce. “ To-night I kept my eyes very wide 
open, I kept my ears listening intently; and I saw 
and I heard just outside our iron fence, starving 
faces and angry voices. They belonged to the poor 
and the suffering of Tourelle. I desire, therefore, 
to pay in full for the contents of the baskets, Ci- 
toyenne Pelven; and I desire further that Henri, 
with thy help, should take them all — yes, all — to the 
little children who need gateaux, sirop, chocolat, this 
very night, Citoyenne, before they go to bed. To- 
morrow I will pay you for everything, Citoyenne; 
but now you will of a certainty do my bidding ? ” 

“ In truth I will, mademoiselle,” said the good 
Citoyenne. “ Ah, but this has been a happy even- 
ing; but it is over. All good things come to an end. 
The evening is over, but the memory — it remains. 
Ah, c y est vrai, c’est vrai. Henri, vite, little son; 
hasten, thou, to carry out the wishes of this noble 
mademoiselle.” 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


361 


Five minutes later the grounds were completely 
cleared. Citoyenne had ordered a man with a mule 
cart to meet her outside the gates. She placed her 
crockery, her baskets full of sweetmeats, her sirops 
so delicious, in the cart; and then desiring Pierre 
Danton to keep by her side, she walked along, chat- 
tering to Henri as she did so. 

“ Ah, ah / 7 she cried, “ I shall not sleep for nights. 
It is true; not for nights! Henri, think of the 
honour ; I, of the people, danced with la Comtesse- 
de Tres; and thou, in thy blue velvet suit, lookest 
like a little king in miniature. Ah, and well did it 
suit thee, mon enfant; well did that rich toilette be- 
come thee, my little son. I could almost change my 
views and cease to be one of the people, if indeed one 
like thyself were to mount the throne of Prance and 
be its King. 7 ’ 

“ Ah, but little mother / 7 said Henri, “ that could 
not be. For behold I belong to the people; and 
though I love to dance with Mademoiselle Joyce, yet 
my heart is with the hungry people . 77 

“ Ah ! ah ! 77 exclaimed Citoyenne, “ and so is mine 
— and so, of a truth, is mine. But, mon enfant , lis- 
ten, comprehend. That noble mademoiselle, Joyce 
Selby, she thinks not of herself but of others; and 
this night, this very night, Pierre is to take round 
the cart, and before we close our weary eyes, we are 
to distribute the good things — the chocolats, the 
gateaux , the sirops , to the hungriest of the hungry 
children of Tourelle. It is the gift of Mademoiselle 


362 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


Joyce to the hungry children. There is no one like 
her, say I, in the world ! ” 

It was just at that very moment that Henri felt a 
dirty hand — thin, trembling exceedingly — laid on 
his little, blue velvet sleeve. He shook it off impa- 
tiently. 

“ What doest thou here, Roy ? ” he enquired. 

“I would ask for thy largest gateau , and then, 
then to depart,” said Roy in a choking, trembling 
voice. 

“ What was it thou didst say ? I heard some of the 
words but not all.” 

“ Keep thy hands off ; thou wilt spoil my suit,” 
said Henri, who had a hot little temper of his own. 
“ Go quickly back to thy home, Roy, and do not 
touch me, for I am — ah, bah! — stronger than thou.” 

What with starvation, what with a sort of in- 
ternal rage, what with a mixed terror of his angry 
mother and of the well-fed page-boy, Roy completely 
forgot himself, and raising a hand, which was so 
feeble that he could scarcely use it with any effect, 
he tried to plant what is known as a a black eye ” on 
one of the sparkling, bright eyes of Henri Sarci. 
But before he could attempt even to reach his prey, 
Citoyenne Pelven was on him. In an instant she 
had lifted him bodily into the cart, had taken from 
a basket two or three gateaux and some gingerbread 
to eat, had stuffed them into his hand, and then given 
Pierre a curt direction. Poor, little, terrified Roy 
scarcely knew what he was doing, or where he was 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


363 


going. In less than no time they drew up at the 
house of Citoyenne Lafarge. Roy was lifted out by 
Citoyenne Pelven very tenderly, and, accompanied 
by herself, the “ little son/’ as she called him, and 
one of the largest baskets of provisions, she boldly 
entered the house. 

It was a shabby and miserable house. Citoyenne 
Lafarge had got over her first transports of rage. 
She was too weak and starved to be angry any longer. 

“ Ah ! oh ! ” she cried, starting from her seat as 
she beheld Citoyenne Pelven. “ Do not be too an- 
gry with me, tres bonne madame; but I am weak — 
weak with the hunger, and the little ones cry and 
cannot sleep. Did Roy do much to thy boy? But 
thy boy is full and mine is empty. He could not 
have hurt him much. Oh, oh, how white mon fils 
looks! Thou hast brought him here. Ah, but he 
has had something to eat. I see the crumbs on his 
little, ragged suit. Ah, Citoyenne, forgive me, for- 
give a mother who has been turned into a wolf be- 
cause of the needs of her children.” 

“ Thy son did nothing to my son,” replied Ci- 
toyenne. “ Thinkest thou that he could f He did 
his best, poor starveling, but I prevented it. Why 
shouldst thou try to injure those who are willing to 
help thee, Citoyenne Lafarge? Behold, behold, be- 
hold ! ” Here she took great bags full of gateaux 
out of her basket. Chocolats followed ; sandwiches 
made of the best pate de foie gras again followed. 
Every possible kind of dainty appeared on the bare, 


364 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


dirty, ugly table. Little bottles of strop stood in a 
row, just behind the good things to eat. 

“ Here is enough,” said Citoyenne Pelven, 
“ enough for thee and for thine ; get the hungry 
children and bid them eat. This food of the best has 
been given to thee by that gracious mademoiselle 
who gave the fete at La Chapelle. She gave the fete 
and she gave orders that all, all that was left, was 
to be distributed amongst the poor and hungry of 
Tourelle. Eat, Citoyenne, eat and drink. These 
strops, behold! I never made their like before. I 
shall, peut-etre, never make their like again; they 
only want fresh water from the well for the thirsty 
to drink and to be revived. Thou hast a well in thy 
back yard, and the water is good. Ah, well do I 
know it, it is of the best! And behold again, here 
is a great jug of milk, and here are cakes of choco- 
late. Make chocolate for les enfants, Citoyenne ; hot, 
nourishing, for the great cold of hunger causes the 
heart to despair. And to-morrow, peut-etre, I will 
talk to thee, Citoyenne; for see, are we not neigh- 
bours ? And why should we cut each other’s 
throats? How I must depart with my little son, for 
there are others besides thyself and thy children at 
Tourelle, who are hungry to-night, Citoyenne.” 

Without a single additional word, without opening 
her lips to add to or to take from what she had al- 
ready spoken, good Citoyenne Pelven departed with 
‘ her empty basket ; and the little girls who were listen- 
ing and trembling upstairs, crept down and scram- 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


365 


bled for the good food, sucb food as they had never 
before in their lives tasted. 

It was, however, the little daughter who was called 
Jeanne, who really prepared the nourishing choco- 
lat; for Citoyenne Lafarge was kneeling in a corner 
of the room, her red, ugly face covered by her red, 
ugly hands; while tears streamed in torrents from 
her eyes. 

“ Le bon Dieu ” she kept repeating. “ He is 
good after all ; and for me, I am but a wicked, a very 
wicked woman.” 

It was little Jeanne who coaxed her mother to 
eat, and who tenderly, with her trembling, shaking 
hand, wiped the tears from that mother’s weak eyes. 

“ Ah, Jeanne,” said the mother, “ I did wrong — 
I did wrong. Roy, my boy, didst thou hurt him 
much ? ” 

“ I could not, ma merer replied Roy, “ because — 
why, I had not the strength. But they were so good 
to me, ma mere; they put me into the mule cart and 
gave me cakes to eat; after that I could do nothing 
more.” 

“ I thank the good God ; I thank Him mightily,” 
said Madame Lafarge. 

Meanwhile, in that honeysuckle bower, which was 
now so full of beauty; so sweet with the sweetest 
scent, perhaps, in all the world ; there sat waiting for 
her fate a miserable, distracted girl. She listened^ 
she strained her ears, she strained her eyesight. 
Eager little figures were passing quickly into the 


366 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


house; eager voices were calling to each other; but 
no one up to the present had come near the honey- 
suckle bower. 

At last, however, quick, light steps were heard ap- 
proaching. Muriel’s heart beat rapidly. She knew 
those steps; there had been a time when she loved 
them; even now she respected them; even now she 
had a feeling for Hope Ashley which she possessed 
for no other girl in the world. 

Hope came silently and swiftly into the bower. 
The first faint, faint dawn of what would be a glori- 
ous summer’s day, was causing the stars to fade and 
the sky to glow with the beginning of a soft, roseate 
light. But Muriel’s face was covered by her hands, 
and when Hope sat down close to her in the honey- 
suckle bower, she did not dare to look up. 

The next minute, however, warm, tender, loving 
arms were round her. Kisses that only Hope could 
give, fell on her brow, her cheeks, her lips. Then 
Hope said in that melodious voice which was her 
charm : 

“ Muriel, Muriel darling, you must go through it ; 
you must go through it to the bitter end. I know it 
will hurt you, but out of pain will come pleasure, 
out of sadness will come unspeakable joy. Joyce and 
I and — and the rest of the Commitee of la Societe 
de J oie have fully made up our minds. To-morrow 
we tell all — all to Madame la Comtesse de Tres. 
Joyce wishes it, so does every other girl connected 
with the Society. I would not join because I did not 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


367 


think it right. Now all the rest of the girls have 
come round to my way of thinking. There will still be 
the Society of Joy, I feel quite certain on that 
point; but there will be no secret about it. Our 
fetes will be given openly; and Madame herself 
will, I am sure, help us; and when the year of 
Joyce’s Queendom has come to an end we may even 
induce Madame to take her place. But that is for 
the future, Muriel. What I now want to say is 
this: I know exactly what has occurred with you. 
You stole a letter. Muriel, dear Muriel, do not 
shrink. You stole a letter written by Frangoise 
Dupuis to her stepmother in Paris. You wanted to 
use your handkerchief, and the letter fell out of your 
pocket. Henri was there and he saw you, and he 
saw the flashing white of the letter as it fell to the 
ground. Muriel, by our earnest request, we per- 
suaded Citoyenne Pelven and Henri Sarci not to 
breathe a single word with regard to that letter until 
the feast was over — until to-morrow at noon. But 
before that time comes, Muriel, you must yourself 
confess your own sin; for it was a sin of the mean- 
est. You opened the letter; you read its contents; 
you meant to injure poor Frangoise. Now you must 
explain the truth to Frangoise. Muriel, your very 
own society, La Societe de Joie, cannot but lead to 
mischief. As far as possible we must abolish such 
Societies from the School. Madame will forgive 
you if you tell her all. Ah, but how noble she is, 
Muriel ! And little Frangoise is changed since she 


368 


THE EAST THE BEST. 


has been treated kindly, and not as though she were 
the dirt beneath our feet. Will you, Muriel, come 
with me to-morrow at nine o’clock, and tell all, yes 
all, to Madame la Comtesse de Tres, and all to 
Fran§oise Dupuis ? I have the letter in my posses- 
sion, for Henri gave it to me, dear boy. Then, aft- 
erwards, the Society will confide its secret motives 
to the Comtesse de Tres, and when the Citoyenne 
arrives there will be no secret to tell, for all will be 
known. Ah, Muriel, you cannot refuse your old, old 
friend ! You cannot live any longer in the icy cold ! 
You want the warmth of love and of fellowship. 
See ! I’ve made arrangements, and the clock strikes 
the half-hour. You are to sleep with me to-night in 
a room specially prepared for us both by our gra- 
cious Comtesse de Tres. Come, Muriel, come; the 
cup that you have to drink is bitter, but you will feel 
like a different girl after you have swallowed it.” 

Muriel sat perfectly motionless for the space of a 
minute, then she flung her arms round the neck of 
her old friend. She kissed her with quick passion; 
and, without uttering a single word, entered the 
house by her side. 

But during the remainder of that summer’s night, 
neither girl slept a great deal; and both girls talked 
incessantly. 

Muriel explained the weight of lead which had 
rested on her heart ; she was truly penitent — she did 
not for a single moment try to excuse herself. The 
•sun was shining brightly into the room when the 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


369 


two, locked in each other’s arms — friends, close 
friends forevermore — dropped asleep. 

To the minute at nine o’clock, Hope Ashley and 
Muriel St. John tapped at the private door of Ma- 
dame’s sitting-room. 

Muriel just glanced at Hope, then went close up 
to Madame and told her everything. 

“ You can expel me, if you like, Madame,” she 
said. “ I deserve the worst punishment you can be- 
stow. I have done this, I have done that, I have 
done the other.” She counted her different crimes on 
her fingers, coming at last to the letter — the letter 
which she had deliberately opened, deliberately 
read, and meant to keep back as a proof of Fran- 
goise’s perfidy. When she came to this point in her 
narrative, the Comtesse rose and rang a bell. 

“ Ask Mademoiselle Frangoise Dupuis to come 
here,” she said. 

Three minutes later Frangoise appeared. She 
started and turned a little white when she saw that 
Madame was not alone, but that Hope and Muriel 
were with her. 

Madame la Comtesse looked at Muriel, and 
Muriel went straight up to Frangoise. 

“ I found your letter,” she said ; u I took it, I read 
it. Here it is back again. It escaped from my 
pocket with my mouchoir , and Henri put his foot 
on it; and but for Hope there would have been 
great, great trouble last night, and my awful wicked- 
ness would have been exposed. I have nothing more 


370 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


to say. I did open your letter, I did read it. Is it 
possible for you ever to forgive me ? ” 

“ Yes, I forgive you,” said Frangoise. “ That is,” 
she continued, “ I forgive you if chere Madame and 
Hope Ashley wish it.” 

“ We both wish it most earnestly, dear child,” 
said Madame. “ But listen, Frangoise. It must be 
a true forgiveness, a forgiving and a forgetting . Are 
you equal to that, my child ? ” 

“ Oh, Madame,” said Frangoise — tears sprang to 
her eyes and rolled down her cheeks — “ I will do 
anything for you and Hope.” 

“ But it must not be for Hope and for me,” said 
Madame ; “ it must be for Muriel and for God . Can 
you forgive in that sort of way, Frangoise? ” 

“ Will you, Frangoise ? ” said Muriel, speaking in 
a tone so humble, so gentle, so unlike herself, that 
Frangoise gazed at her in amazement. 

“ Ah, yes ! Ah, yes ! ” she said, “ to forgive and 
to forget — they are joyful words.” 

“ And now, Muriel,” continued Hope, “ it is as 
we arranged, your duty to tell our beloved Madame 
la Comtesse the whole story which led to this story. 
You know to what I allude.” 

“ May the other girls be present ? ” asked Muriel. 
Once again Madame touched her bell. It was 
now Muriels turn to give certain directions; and to 
the amazement of Madame la Comtesse, the room 
was almost immediately filled with thirty-two anx- 
ious-looking girls. Amongst them could be seen the 


THE LAST THE BEST. 371 

face and the noble figure of that young Queen 
amongst her companions, Joyce Selby. 

u We have come,” said Joyce, speaking quickly 
and taking the words out of Muriel’s lips, “ to make 
our full confession to you, chere Madame . Think- 
ing it not altogether wrong, we formed a secret so- 
ciety which we called la Societe de Joie . It was 
first inaugurated by Muriel. A certain number of 
girls formed the Committee, and one girl was Queen. 
I, Madame, was elected Queen, although I was some- 
what surprised that Hope did not belong. How we 
wish to tell you that the Society is no longer secret. 
You can abolish it altogether if you like, chere 
madame, or you can give us permission to continue 
it. The Queen is an absolute monarch, and my ob- 
ject during the remainder of my reign — that is, 
Madame, if you wish my reign to continue — is to 
help the poor and suffering outside ourselves. Have 
we your permission, or have we not, chere madame ? ” 
“ But I never thought of this,” said Madame. 
“ I never guessed it. Muriel, you were the origina- 
tor. How did you manage ? ” 

Then Muriel told the story of the supposed rats, 
and the story of the supposed Mother Superior ; and 
looking up suddenly in the midst of her narration, 
she saw a strange look fill the eyes of Madame la 
Comtesse. 

“ Do you mean to tell me,” she remarked, while 
a mingling of tears and laughter suffused her beau- 
tiful face, “ that you rolled potatoes about to act as 


372 


THE LAST THE BEST. 


rats ? — and you yourself glided by as the late Mother 
Superior ? ” 

“ It is true ; the trick was a silly one,” said Muriel. 

“ It was a clever one, and it took me in completely. 
Mes enfants , I will not interfere with your secret so- 
ciety. The only thing is this — I wish to become a 
member. You need not have told me anything; you 
have told me all. At the end of a year, when you 
want a fresh Queen, you may, perhaps, appoint me. 
If you do, I shall not refuse. As to the rest of the 
School, la Societe de Joie can still be kept a secret 
from them. There is no need that all should be 
known. I will attend your meetings. But I will do 
so not at midnight, but at the earlier hour of ten, so 
that, mes enfants , you may sleep soundly and well; 
so that the bag of potatoes need be used no longer; 
so that the dress of the poor late Mother Superior 
need not again be required. But we will make it in 
very truth a Societe de Joie; and when we meet on 
these occasions, I, your mistress, your principal, will 
cease to be your mistress and principal. I will be, 
mes enfants , your friend. As to Queen Joyce, I 
bow before her. Hers is an absolute monarchy ; 
and when my turn comes to reign as Queen, I will 
also help the poor and suffering of Tourelle.” 

ll J) THE END. 


























'T . . 



’ <ii' c ‘ j * \isW5- * a » * '~ c 6/U/^ > * 

° « ° ’ jO ^ * • , •. • ’ 

V >'-Vl', -c^ , !.*«. <> 

tr <$ ' 

J'y «> 

; ; <v«* : 

s - * £ % 


$ * 



O 'o , l * 



* ° 5 > 

<»* 


_ o 

* 4 O • 

V y<V v» 

h ’«> o 

<<> .0 






,<?- 

c° *•*"* 



V' c\ ,9 



^ xA *• 
\P 9 * 

* 4 V** 


^ *° • A A 


<* •v 1 



s^, 



<* xA 


<^ ' • * * * .6^ "o . * * .A 


O v 



• «• ' » 


\ <L VV* Vi 

* _ y 



A 


<* 


OifT^S^SSMl^- -6 < j£W/t&> » *> <-y v 


> * v * 


o N o 


p * r o ^ 

^ .V o*. * 

*. , . > <A 

t w • ® 80 * • * 

„• ,«,'’ V °mfW* a v ^x. - 


o V 






0 * * * 


VP . 9' 


o>9 


*- *' Cr 'o. *<r. i * ' .a ' ' ^ v^sy*^* >a v "<£. 


• * 



,> 


-w 



* <, 
^ xA O 


A V x V 

A C 0 w 0 * 

^ ^ (y * 


o ^C> iP 
/ ■$ 



V» *7 


•w 



o M O 


; ,5 °-c *. 

<> "’ v'*\— * V 

\ ^ ^ ‘ ‘ 
z ® 

; ^ V i 

'P ’ A \ r "V* 4 * * * \G V O 'o . * * A, 

O <*2" , ° « 0 „ <{> --V , , . <p A \, V 

O ,(■? • _r-^V\ «► ^ c 0 t 0 0 W 0 -9 ^ 



«* xV 

*. ,#• ' 




'/ ^ ^ 


A % 

-b ^ « 





^ * o 


-Ow^ 

^ " 1 AT 

V S 



^o 0 






^ ‘ * 

• * * * 


'• V A V / 


V • O 




* yy 

* 1? % • 


A 


^ 0 ‘ t 


l i a 


<* 


<A V r.O'O^ 



.. * % ,0 





V. * * * A& 

' V. rO' % 



^ 1 I 


0*1* 


■5* -'ftW’S «> 

» I 1 * AV- 


v _ 

^ a 9 * * * °* 

V,^* *jJWa*- *j. > *‘ s 

rr ■»•■ w 

\X y ^. -* ^binii^* « .e, »o 




* ~ ' * 

ip v\ » 

o Q vp^.' ^ ^ 

V »*-M' 0 V ~ .*••- '< 



* * ° " 0 0 

^ V 3 ,*'*°' ■> 

<& ^ *^Wa* « 

tf -»^* v< 

^ \ j - 



f V-> « ’ ,, ■* 1^/ 

* '^>v „ ^ * j&tfl77?2? 0 j'*' 

A **V ^ *• J^i\l//^ :> * ^ 4? * 

• ^ O' • * ^q C® - o 

* <1 o • T 3 tel lj^a • ~ • 

v a/ -^> m v^ * <0 *7* *■ 

^ - .+ ^ _ '^UWv^ ' * sK * 

!■> "' <r <v ‘...* .o° <*$> 

' « V ‘irtik.*- =* ^ .!*•- % 




* a>«* 

‘ 4V 



*° aV* ° 

• * -<6 'o , k * /\. ^ \ 

A V V»> * • 8 «0 

c 0 ” 0 4 <$> 

**■ o’' • JS^fsSJss* '*b t? ^ 0 « 

_ .. °’ 4 0 v V'SSJiF; £ *«1 

> 3 ? ...,°+ *•" *° V ‘ — •' .** °° J 

V * ♦ o. .o 3 . * * - <v 

**•£* ^ „',^=Jf|w5s • <^, A » V/gtf a’ 0 ^ .-?> ,‘i C' 


•/”•** 0 ^" 






^ <F % 0 



\ ' _„_ v • • * ^ '° • » " A 


0 ^ t * t# ^ ^o 

^ *5^ , ^ " 

„ _ : . , ^ o’* : 

DOBBS MOS. ‘t. * 1^ ^ " 

LIBRARY BINDING ^ ^ /W' 5 ^* <, ^ O # 

^ 1 O, * 








*»*iS®;- ■ 


^ 0 -d 

i ; -o V 5, • 

° 4-° "V -.^ 

• ,o° %, *: 


^"1 


V-\ 



« »S V ■ 
0 ^ 


°°WW. : <P\ \ 

**• ^ G ..... °^_ '-‘* ^ ^ * 


""X 

0 " ® - <$>, 



% & 


* <■ 
-» <r v 


A U M 


•* s% aO 1 



